


to put your emptiness to melody (your awful heart to song)

by wondercurls1917 (orphan_account)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: :/, Abduction, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Children Are Not So Much Born as Manifested, Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley having long hair is SYMBOLIC, Crowley's Bentley (Good Omens), Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Football | Soccer, Gen, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), Glasses, Hell Didn't Do It, Kid Fic, Loss of Parent(s), Manifest Baby O'Clock, Muteness, Nonbinary Aziraphale (Good Omens), Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parenthood, Post-Canon, Protective Crowley, Sentient Bentley (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), THERE ARE CHILDREN, Wings, angels and demons don't have genders, anyway, author why must you do this to the nice cute children, crowley and aziraphale get taken :(, i'm projecting, magical children, nice cute children, no really, pay attention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-10-06 01:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 52,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/wondercurls1917
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley move to Lower Tadfield, and start a family. It's rather quite big before Heaven finally catch up to them.(OR: the one where Aziraphale and Crowley's children have to save them from an abduction by Heaven.)





	1. the prolouge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spellingbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spellingbee/gifts), [prettyasexual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyasexual/gifts).

> EPILOUGE REVISED FOR GENDER CRIMES AND ALSO BECAUSE I AM BABEY
> 
> title comes from "To Noise Making (Sing)" by Hozier. My friend owes me for that ;)
> 
> WARNING: kind of nightmare parts (but not really) and also Aziraphale and Crowley get abducted in XIII (13)
> 
> For further understanding, it could be said that Lucifer looks like Sherlock era Cumberbatch, and Lilith is pictured as being played by Gal Gadot.

** _I._ **

Following the End Times, the world was anew.

So was the semblance of a relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale. They’d both been waiting a long time. It was almost unfair how long they’d waited. But Heaven and Hell had been appeased, and Crowley spent more time than ever in the bookshop, having no excuse other than the fact that he wanted to see Aziraphale that day. He’d stay, even, for _days _at a time, just taking in the fact that he was _allowed _to. That he could sit like this, forever, in Aziraphale’s habitat, watching him do what came naturally and often finding himself being able to be a part of it.

And, _yes. _There _had _been a talk about sex; very awkward and flustering on either part, because neither had done it or even really _planned _to do it. They had no need for it like humans did, just like neither really conformed to the laws of gender or even anatomy. They both used those two functions rather loosely.

“You know, Crowley,” Aziraphale said one day. He was on a short ladder, sorting through the books on a much higher shelf. “I do find myself wondering, now and again, what it would’ve been like had we met before the Garden.”

Crowley wouldn’t have had an answer either way but responded anyway: “You might’ve been under my charge, had we met before the Garden.”

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder, face pinched. It was clear he didn’t understand. He expressed as much verbally.

“Ah, well.” Crowley stretched languidly, propping his feet up on the front desk. The chair he was sitting in shouldn’t necessarily be reclining so far backward, but it would do anything to appease the demon currently sitting on it. “Ancient history, really, angel, but I lead a company of angels. Like Michael, or Gabriel, or the rest of ‘em. Mine and Lucifer’s were split off to different companies evenly when we Fell.”

Aziraphale slowly climbed down his bookcase ladder. “Crowley, my love.”

“Hm?”

“Only archangels had command of companies in the Host.”

“Well, yeah.” Crowley sat up, adjusted his sunglasses. The sun bounced off of them with a mischievous gleam. “I wouldn’t have had command of a company otherwise.”

The truth was this: God had made the Archangel Raphael Fall in private quarters, where She and him were the only ones present. The Healer had asked why humans had to suffer so, if they were Her favorite. God had been listening to his questions since the Beginning, and the endearment of them had worn tired. So, when Raphael vanished from the Host, God said their favorite Seraph had put in for a mission continuation of putting up stars in the cosmos, and She’d relieved him of his duties and his troops should be split evenly among the companies of Her other archangels as Lucifer’s had.

“Wouldn’t we have been told of another archangel Falling, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. He was standing opposite where Crowley sat at the desk. “I can’t even think of any that _might’ve _Fallen. Metatron, Gabriel, Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon are all, unfortunately, accounted for and while Raphael hasn’t been seen in…”

His gaze fell to the demon lounging all too quietly in the desk chair with a nervous chuckle. Crowley peered over the frames of his sunglasses, serpentine eyes gold and unblinking, powerful in his own right. The Serpent of Eden, who’s stopped time and projected different planes of reality on a whim, with gorgeous midnight wings that shine with iridescence, who _had _to coil around something if he were to be in serpent form for very long. Who was more clever and more trustworthy than anyone could ever know.

“Where’s Raphael been, angel?” he asked slyly, his forked tongue flicking from between his lips for a fraction of a second.

“You’ve been here,” Aziraphale said breathlessly, “with me. All this time. Oh, good Lord.”

“I sure have,” Crowley said, leaning back with a small smile. “This doesn’t change anything, though, angel. I’m long over it, and I can still log miracles as Raphael to stay off Hell’s radar whenever I want to do my, ah… _thing.”_

He made a strange gesture with his hands, but Aziraphale had no doubt about what his partner was saying. He was, after all, the Healer.

“Right, then,” Aziraphale said, leaning far over the counted to duck into a quick kiss. “I think I might prefer you this way, since I certainly _did _get to meet you and have this with you.”

And that was that.

** _II._ **

Angels and demons could not procreate.

That is to say, not the way humans did it. Aziraphale knew angels _could _multiply—split in half and clone. _Mitosis, _the humans would call it. Long ago, before the Lucifer’s Fall, angels would do something to make _new _angels that _wasn’t _the cloning method, but Aziraphale had been created during the Fall, when Heaven was battling. After the War, angels no longer _spoke _of that thing, let along _did _it. So Aziraphale, freshly released down to Earth to guard the East Gate of Eden, didn’t bother to think of it.

That is, until now.

Crowley was in the kitchen of his Mayfair flat, carefully slicing and rolling and preparing sushi—actual _sushi,_ which he’d taken the time to learn to make at a class he’d been attending secretly ever Tuesday for quite some time now—for dinner. He was even making Aziraphale’s most favored dishes, and he’s cooked the rice to _perfection _and he’d not gotten cheap, plastic-packaged seaweed and—

Light flooded the room. Something shrill sounded, loud and bright, and Aziraphale scrambled to fix his arms as a weight was dropped suddenly into them and…

And there was a baby boy crying and squirming in his arms. Crowley turned, eyes wide, to glean a look at what the _Hell _was happening. Aziraphale, meanwhile, rocked the newborn and murmured, quiet and frantic, down at him.

“Angel,” the demon said slowly, putting his hands up so they were level to his shoulders as he walked around the kitchen island that separated them. “Where’d you get that baby?”

Aziraphale glanced up at his partner, eyes panicked. “I-I don’t know, Crowley. He appeared out of nowhere. I was just… _watching _you and he…”

“You Created him,” Crowley said, voice filled with awe. He snapped the fingers of one hand and a pale yellow blanket appeared in his hand. “If I’m not mistaken, you just Created a being out of pure love, Aziraphale.”

“I… what?” The angel reluctantly passed the baby over when Crowley reached for him. “Surely that’s not how cloning oneself turns out, is it?”

Crowley laid the baby on the pale yellow blanket, which he’d folded and set on the kitchen isle. He summoned a nappy and talcum powder to hand and diapered the wriggling bean, quickly following that up by swaddling him.

“You didn’t clone yourself, angel,” Crowley explained as he worked to diaper and cocoon the infant. “That’s a different process that requires you to be in Heaven. No, you _Created _this one. Tell me what happened, step by step, up until he appeared.”

Crowley rocked the babe expertly until his cries died down as he listened.

“Well, I was just so, ah… _overwhelmed _when you started putting together the sushi, my love,” Aziraphale stammered, wringing his hands. “That you’d take out that sort of time to learn something _just _to impress me, it was… _well.”_

“So you were overwhelmed… with love?” Crowley raised his eyebrows high, his eyes long uncovered. His mouth was slightly agape, and a tiny flash of white told the angel he was trying not to smile. “Did you notice _where _the glow was coming from, angel?”

He thought back, and… _oh._

“My heart,” Aziraphale answered. “The light came from my heart.”

Crowley grinned so wide, his eyes squinted. “That was _Creation, _angel. You love me so much, you Created a baby. _Both _of us did, technically, but he came from you, specifically. We have a _baby, _Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale looked at the baby in his partner’s arms, and couldn’t help the smile that grew.

It seemed to hit them both at the same time, and the smiles dropped into pure shock and realization.

“Aziraphale…” Crowley said, eyes wide as he stared in mounting panic at the newborn. “We have a _baby.”_

It took another ten minutes for them to calm each other down, which was broken up by one of them summoning a white bassinet—it was indeterminable as to _who—_and Crowley setting their baby down into it as gingerly as possible. When they finally regained composure, hands intertwined and heaving with technically unneeded breaths, they stopped and looked at the occupied bassinet.

Aziraphale grabbed the edge of it and tugged it beside a seat at the kitchen island, the wheels of it rolling smoothly across the sleek floors. The wheels miraculously locked when the angel sat beside the bassinet. Crowley ducked to lay a kiss on Aziraphale’s lips, and then another on the baby’s forehead.

“I think,” Aziraphale piped up after a few shock-still minutes where he observed the sleeping newborn and Crowley went back to making sushi, “we should name him Raphael.”

Crowley jumped, carefully setting down his knife. “You think so, angel?”

Aziraphale hummed. “I do. Oh!” He brushed the scarce hair away from the baby’s face, watching it in the light. “His hair, my dear. It looks, ahem… _pink.”_

Crowley came around the island and peered down. “Oh, that makes him all the more darling, angel. Pink hair. My _stars, _he’s going to be the best kid out there. Little Raphael.”

“Our darling, indeed, my dearest,” the angel agreed. “Raphael. Our tiny little darling.”

** _III._ **

“He’s just Created.”

Lilith stared at her husband across the table, faltering as she brought a fork to her lips. Lucifer had gone unnervingly still, as he did sometimes, and had turned his face upward. He stayed like that for a few minutes, as though _watching _something, and his words confused the First Woman.

“Who?” she asked just before taking the bite her husband had held off.

“My brother,” the King of Hell replied. “Crowley. He and… the angel. _Principality. _They just Created. I felt it.”

“Didn’t your brother,” Lilith started, slow and scolding, “tell you to stop keeping tabs on him? Didn’t he reiterate that _twice _after the failed execution?”

Lucifer had the gall to look defensive. “But I’m _not! _I said I wouldn’t keep tabs and I _haven’t. _I keep my word, Lilith, you know that.”

She did, indeed, know that. “Then how would you know Crowley and his angel Created, Lucifer?”

He huffed, looking frustrated. “It hasn’t been done in _years, _Lilith. _Eons! _Not since Before. And if _I _know about it, even— If I _felt _it, I mean, then everyone in Heaven _definitely _felt it. I’m fairly certain the principality did the big part, that is to say… the actual _Creation _of the baby.”

That struck her differently. Heaven _would _feel it deeper than anyone or anything in Hell, if the principality manifested the Creation and not Crowley. And while Crowley was begrudgingly left alone by Hell, with the Queen most _definitely _on his side—which meant the King had no choice in the matter—Heaven was _angry. _They had absolutely no reason to want to continue the lifespan of Earth or any of its inhabitants. Hell knew its Queen loved Earth, and their King loved the Queen too much to _really _go through with Armageddon. All the demons in Hell knew that they would personally be punished by Lilith if they went against her wishes.

Her wishes were as follows: leave the demon Crowley and his angel alone, leave Adam Young and his troupe alone, and leave Earth alone.

She’d no doubt have to extend that. _Leave Crowley and his family alone _sounded more powerful, she supposed. Demons knew what they’d get if they messed with a perfectly functioning family.

“Call a court, Lucifer,” she said. “First thing tomorrow.”

Lilith dressed in her royal robes when she awoke, and met with Lucifer just outside the royal court. She and her husband took their seats, and Beelzebub took theirs, and all the demons present looked _petrified._

“First order of the day,” Beelzebub announced. “Queen Lilith wishes to deliver a very important message to all demons of Hell. You have the floor, my Queen.”

Lilith stood, posture straight and face sharp. “I have to reiterate this, since there’s further extension of it. The demon Crowley, his angel, and their _family _must be left alone. There is no exception. Any who wish to challenge that will face me.”

One scraggly demon stood—a duke, she recalled, eyes filmed over and black, a frog atop his head, maggots crawling in his teeth—and he looked _angry._

“Your Majesty, all due respect,” the duke called out. “I am Duke Hastur. The demon Crowley _murdered _Duke Ligur—_using Holy Water—_in cold blood. His punishment did not work. Justice _has not _been served, Your Majesty.”

Lilith narrowed her eyes at the creature. “And who do you wish to serve justice to, Duke Hastur? The father of a brand new thing? The husband of an innocent who was apparently _given _no trial like Crowley was? Would you purposefully take the life of someone who’s just starting anew, who has a _baby, _and leave his widow to break? Sit down, Duke Hastur.”

There were no others willing to stand up to Lilith. That was fine by here.

** _IV._ **

Lower Tadfield, it seemed, was the best choice.

Raphael was barely six months old when they finally moved in, but the Tadfield house was a suitable place to raise him. It was a two-story deal, with a large front yard and a fenced backyard. It was fairly similar to Jasmine Cottage in build, and there was so much _room _in the yards.

It was decided very early on when they were moving in that there would be a flower patch in the front yard, a garden and possible fruit trees in the backyard, and quite amusingly, a treehouse.

The idea for that was Adam’s. Shortly after, Crowley appointed the Them to help in the construction of the treehouse. It’d be built in the large, sturdy oak tree already erected in the backyard. Crowley was certain, during the process of working on it with the children, that oak trees weren’t supposed to be blooming apples, and especially not during the wintertime. He didn’t say anything about it, though, and Adam had a good time plucking low-hanging apples and biting into them.

Winter melted with the snow, and a perfect spring rolled in right on schedule. Crowley began planting the seeds for his flower patch in the front yard, and Aziraphale would bring him a glass of ice cold lemonade, and Raph would come bounding onto the grass with tiny, pinwheeling legs. With one project completed, Crowley began work on the fruits and vegetables in the backyard. The backyard gate’s arch was quite a perfect place to grow grapevines, and he planted strawberries and tomatoes, peppers and green onions, parsley, cilantro, mint, rosemary, thyme, cherries, peaches, lemons. Cucumbers, carrots, and romaine lettuce somehow made its way back there too, and then hazelnuts and chestnuts too because there was _still _room.

And, _Lord, _the house looked just _beautiful _when autumn came around and Aziraphale invited a few people to have a selection of their harvest.

** _V._ **

The Harvest, as the villagers of Lower Tadfield deemed it, was the biggest event to take place in their little community.

That is to say, Crowley called up a few trustworthy people to help—Anathema and Newton, the Them and Dog—and they’d all harvest fruits, vegetables, and nuts. Even some stalks of herbs were cut to make room for more growth come spring. Raphael ran about the backyard chasing Dog, who was a very good sport of keeping the tot occupied, and Aziraphale squeezed fresh lemonade and made a cinnamon apple pie from scratch.

The next day, people were invited to the backyard, where the couple had set up cloth-covered tables that were occupied by baskets of fresh produce. The Youngs came by, and Wensleydale’s parents, Pepper’s mum and sister, Brian’s parents. Newton drove his mum in from the city. A rather kindly-looking man with a mop of salt-and-pepper curls small, wire-framed glasses stopped in for a while. Even RP Tyler passed by, if only to see what all the commotion was about.

It was when a sleek, modern black car pulled up to the curb that the festivities paused, if only for a short while. A tall, elegant-looking man with dark hair and keen, crystal blue eyes stepped out of the driver’s side, fixing his expensive black jacket. A dark-skinned woman stepped out from the passenger side, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She adjusted her cream-colored blouse.

Crowley rushed to the backyard gate, trying in vain to stop the two strangers before they got any closer, but Raphael beat him to it. He had _just _slipped past his father, running over to the two strangers. The woman’s stone-hard face cracked with a smile as she knelt to catch him beneath the arms, bringing the tiny tot up in a spin before she settled him on her hip comfortable. She was the picture of motherhood, really, with Raphael on his hip and her hair long and flowing to one side. Her husband watched her with no small amount of awe and love.

“Ah,” Crowley said awkwardly. “Good to, um, see you both. Is… is there a particular _reason _for this visit, or…?”

“Purely social,” Lucifer answered, smiling absently at Lilith. He looked at the confused demon out of the corner of his eyes. “What? Can’t I visit my little brother?”

“Right, yes, that’s all well and good,” Aziraphale said as he hurried past. He stopped before Lilith, arms open expectantly. “Please, may I have him back?”

“No need to ask,” Lilith said, already handing him over. “He’s quite beautiful. Not a year old yet, I hope?”

“No, he’s not,” Crowley answered. “Is this _actually _a social call, Lucifer?”

“Yes,” Lucifer said. “Lilith and I only wish to visit, potentially tell you and your husband that nobody in Hell is ever going to be against you again. Courtesy of the Queen, of course.”

“Yes, because we _all _know what’d happen if Lord Satan actually tried to command his kingdom,” Lilith scoffed. “Now, I understand you’re handing out your harvest? It’s been too long since I actually had fresh fruits and vegetables.”

By sunset, Lucifer and Crowley had reacquainted quite nicely. Aziraphale and Lilith hit it off very well, too, and shared their favorite home recipes. At one point, a standoff was help between Adam and his not-father, which was called off when Lilith grabbed Lucifer by the ear and dragged him to sit back down at the table before he made the baby cry. Adam was then introduced to his biological mother, who he’d not renounced and still had some semblance of power from. Wensleydale, Pepper, and Brian all decided they liked Adam’s birth mum before the end of the day, not to mention Dog, who abandoned Adam’s side when Lilith sat so he could plop down by her feet.

All Hellhounds, they were informed, did that, should they be released when Lilith is sitting nearby. It came naturally to them.

When Lucifer and Lilith went to leave, they were only called back by there unassumingly innocent nephew, who had the nerve to utter, “Li-li-li-lit,” in a squealing tone that ushered the Queen of Hell back to give him a quick kiss on the head. This action also absolutely _baffled _the tot’s parents, who hadn’t the slightest about how Raphael’s first word was not _mama _or _dada _but instead _Lilith._

** _VI._ **

It was a pleasant day in August when it happened.

Well, not just _any _day. It was The End of the World. That is to say, the third anniversary of it.

They were celebrating Adam’s birthday in Hogback Wood, around the abandoned quarry where the Them usually played, and Crowley and Aziraphale had joined them out here simply because Adam had decided to give an invitation that stated the Them required Raphael to be there. Currently, the Them were playing with wooden swords and cardboard crowns, one of which had—peculiarly enough—ended up on Aziraphale’s head. One of the other crowns sat atop Raphael’s head, perfectly adjusted by the angel, and the third was sitting askew on fourteen-year-old Adam’s head.

“Playing swords is _very _important,” Adam was arguing with Crowley on his milkcrate throne overlooking the Them’s spot. “Even when you’re growing up. _Especially _when you’re growing up. How else would all those knights and musketeers have gotten their jobs?”

“You’ve got me there,” Crowley said, watching with slightly hooded eyes as Raph ran amuck carrying a Raphael-sized wooden sword aloft. His free hand was being held by Wensleydale. Aziraphale was just behind them, making a show of chasing them. The sight was too sweet to miss. “Don’t you think you’ll get bored of it eventually? All the running about like chickens with your heads cut off?”

Adam glanced over and then back again, a smile crossing his face. “Not for the whole world. I don’t think me and the Them will _ever _stop playing, even when we’re old and grey.”

At this, Dog hopped up into his master’s lap, panting and wagging. Adam laughed at him, running a hand from his pet’s head all the way down to his bum.

Aziraphale called out, “I’ve got you!” and advanced, grabbing Raph up and swinging him about as the toddler shrieked with laughter. Crowley’s heart swelled with joy. He felt his eyes water with the force of it as he watched his husband pull their son close, laying a smattering of kisses all over Raphael’s face. It hit him like train, right in the gut: _he loved Aziraphale. He loved his son._

A flash of light. Crowley flailed and fell backward, and then cried out when he felt a weight on his chest.

Scratch that. It was two, separate things on his chest.

_Babies, _Crowley’s mind registered as he stared down at the squirming, crying beans on his chest. _Twins._

Crowley blinked, leaving his sunglasses where they’d chosen to fall on the grass, and got an arm around either of them, readjusting as he stood. “Aziraphale!”

Aziraphale looked up from across the quarry pit, and his eyes widened. “Good Lord! Now?”

“What happened?” Brian asked. He was looking up from a mud puddle, halfway sat up from where Pepper had been pulling him out of it. “I miss all the big stuff! What’s happened?”

“I just… _Created,” _Crowley called, voice high pitched as he got hysterical. “I didn’t know demons could Create too. Bloody Hell!” This outburst seemed to upset the two newborns in his arms and he swayed. “Alright, okay, I get it. No more yelling. Okay.”

“Do you think we might have to go home?” Aziraphale asked, picking his way around the clearing with Raphael on his hip. “This is a, ah… rather _big_ development, after all, my dear. You Created _twins, _Crowley.”

“I know, angel,” Crowley said. “I… Yeah. _Yes, _we should go home, I think. Stars. Okay.”

They bade Adam and the Them goodbye and made off. Getting to home was a quick, secret affair of taking scarcely used streets and getting in through the backdoor.

There was someone already waiting outside the gates for them, it seemed. The sleek black car was already shut off, and Lilith held the gate open for them all to enter.

“I’d say congratulations, but you look ready to take a nice, long sleep, little brother,” Lucifer uttered.

“Oh, I feel it, trust me,” Crowley answered, slipping inside and making his way to the up-until-recently unused nursery.

He had Aziraphale hold one of them while he diapered and swaddled the first—a girl, slightly bigger than her twin, with wide eyes, one of them cerulean blue and the other gold but both with circular pupils. When he was finished with her, Aziraphale took her and handed him the other twin—a little boy, squirming and quiet. Unlike his sister, his eyes were still closed, so it’d be hard to tell whether his eyes turned out like his sister’s or otherwise.

They were both wrapped up in pale purple blankets, and Aziraphale carried the girl out while Crowley carried the boy. Lilith and Lucifer waited in the family room, where they’d been watching Raph play on his blanket for the moment.

“Wee things, aren’t they?” Lucifer said. He caught sight of the bigger one in Aziraphale’s arms. “Oh, not that one, I’d bet. That one’s going to be _vicious.”_

“Would you like to hold her for a moment?” Aziraphale asked, rocking the hiccupping infant lightly.

Lucifer, in shock at even being _offered, _simply held his arms out. When Aziraphale laid the newborn in his grasp, Lilith adjusted her husband’s hold.

“Oh, now _that’s _cute,” Crowley said, decided to sit on the play blanket with his firstborn and his youngest boy. Raphael crawled over, for lack of quicker transportation, and peered down at his little brother. “I think I might now what to name her, now that you’re holding her.”

“And what’s that, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, gaze flitting over to his husband briefly before going back to watching their daughter.

“Think we should call her _Lucy,” _Crowley drawled, a wicked grin dancing over his features as Lucifer’s head whipped up.

“You’re a bloody troublemaker, little brother,” the King of Hell groaned. He stared down at the infant in his arms—_Lucy—_and sighed. “Hello, Lucy.”

“Would you like a name to match?” Lilith said slyly, lounging back on the sofa.

“Oh, look what you’ve done, Crowley,” Lucifer said. “My own wife turning against me. I never thought I’d see the day.”

“I’d love to hear it,” Crowley said, swaying from side to side with his youngest son. “As long as you haven’t got me naming him _Satan. _I won’t do that deal.”

“No, of course not,” Lilith scoffed, smiling. “Sam, short for Samael.”

_Sam. _Crowley looked down at the newborn in his arms, watched as the baby squinted open mismatched eyes—right eye blue, left eye golden; opposite his sister—and smiled. “I love it. Lucy and Sam. Oh, my little lovelies.”

And that was that.

** _VII._ **

“Lucy’s just… ahead of the learning curve, there’s nothing _wrong, _he’s just—”

“No, you’re right. There _is _nothing wrong, because he’s not done anything bad. We know he’s not deaf, Crowley, and it’s not a big deal at all if he can’t speak.”

Aziraphale watched as Crowley sniffed and wiped at her face, dashing tears from her cheeks stubbornly and biting her lip when it threatened to wobble. His wife crossed her arms, her hair falling around her face to hide it.

“At least, it _shouldn’t _be a big deal,” Aziraphale continued slowly. Crowley continued to snivel. “My dear, what’s going on?”

“Nothing!” the demon snapped, waving her hands about. “It’s just— _Nothing, _okay? Just drop it, angel, you’re right. It’s not a big deal.”

“It wouldn’t be a big deal if you weren’t so upset, but you are,” Aziraphale countered. He grabbed Crowley by the arm and pulled her down to sit on the side of their bed. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll just keep guessing until I get it.”

No response, other than Crowley obstinately turning her head away.

“Is it because you don’t want things to be harder for him?”

Nothing.

“Is it because… one of our kids already has a debilitating problem? Because, if it’s that, we’ve already gotten prescription glasses for you _and _Raphael, and you know he doesn’t really mind it.”

Nada. Not even a twitch.

“Is it because you’re scared of what might happen if he can’t speak and gets into trouble?”

“Christ, angel, no!” Crowley cried, and the dam crumbled. “I wasn’t even _thinking _of that and now it’s another thing to worry about. Aziraphale, do you know what I _did _in Heaven?”

They hadn’t spoken of Crowley’s time as the Healer since before they had Raph, but Aziraphale got over the shock rather quickly for someone caught so unawares.

“Of course,” he answered. “You made stars, healed the sick or wounded during the War, and helped create the Earth.”

“I was part of the Seven Seraphim, angel,” Crowley managed.

“Yes, I know,” Aziraphale sighed. “God’s seven original archangels.”

“Sometimes I forget you were Created during the War.” She shook her head, pushing her ever-growing hair out of her face. “Before everything happened, angel, we had… The Seven Seraphim were made to sing God’s praise. As in, you know, _sing. _Resonate in our true forms in perfect harmony.”

Aziraphale was silent for a long while. And then he said, “And you wanted to share that with all of them one day.”

“I did,” Crowley confirmed.

The next day, Aziraphale went out and purchased a book to teach British Sign Language.

** **

** _VIII._ **

Raphael was about excited for his first day of primary school as Aziraphale and Crowley were scared for it.

It hadn’t taken much, though, to get the couple out of bed. Aziraphale and Crowley parted ways in the hall after a brief kiss. Aziraphale would be making pancakes, for lack of time to make crepes properly, and Crowley would get Raph up and dressed. He didn’t have to get the twins up for a while yet, and Lucy got grumpy when she got up too early.

“So,” Crowley started as he helped Raphael into his shorts, “how are you feeling, my darling?”

“Icky,” Raph stated straight out. “I think I’m so excited, it made me ill, Daddy. My stomach’s all fluttery. Like… like…”

Crowley chuckled, leaning in to kiss Raphael’s little tummy. “Like butterflies?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Raph said. He shrugged into his white button-up shirt and Crowley did up the buttons. “Are you and Papa going to be lonely all day without me?”

“Not exactly, darling,” Crowley answered, pulling the navy blue vest over Raph’s head. “We’ll have enough trouble from the twins, you see. And then I’ve got to garden and watch your Papa read his books. _Ugh.”_

Raph giggled at the playful annoyance. “Silly Daddy, Papa’s books are the best in the _world. _And besides, you love him, so it can’t be _all _bad.”

Crowley smiled, brushing Raphael’s strawberry blond hair away from his face tenderly. He fixed the child’s knee-socks, double checking that his shoes were tied tightly, and then gingerly placed Raph’s round glasses on his nose. The change was near instantaneous; the slits cutting the boy’s turquoise-blue eyes in half dilated wide as everything came into focus. He’d surely have to take the specs off when he got home to save himself a migraine headache—something he and Crowley had _both _learned the hard way—but it made him look clever and brainy, just for a while.

“Breakfast, and then off we go to your first day,” Crowley said as he stood from his crouch.

“Don’t worry, Daddy,” Raph reassured him as he reached for the demon’s hand. “I’m ready.”

** _IX._ **

Aziraphale had been busy restoring an old book when he heard it.

“My _word, _poppet, you’re doing excellent!” Crowley praised from the family room. “Oh, let me see. _Gorgeous, _my darling. Simply beautiful. How are you doing, Sam?” A loud gasp, and then: “That’s wonderful, lovely. I love it, keep going.”

He couldn’t help his curiosity. Aziraphale carefully set down the book—already halfway done as he was—and stood, giving himself a moment to stretch. He shuffled through the hallway from his study, peering in from the arched doorway into the family room.

There Crowley was, legs crossed, sat between their five-year-old and two three-year-olds, long hair down from his usual loose bun, braid, or ponytail. Raphael, Lucy, and Sam were all sat around him as Crowley held very still, and each of them had both hands in a section of Crowley’s hair, fiddling with it and—

It hit Aziraphale suddenly as Crowley guided Lucy’s unsteady fingers along that he was teaching them how to _braid. _All three of them, all working on his hair at once, no matter how out-of-sorts or tangled it’d make his hair later. Just freely letting their kids muck about with his hair, guiding them with a practiced ease.

Needless to say, it made Aziraphale’s heart sing. Possibly a little _too _much.

There was a burst of light, and then a shrill scream hit the air. Aziraphale held the newborn close, more than a bit shocked at the sudden appearance of a _fourth _child.

And good _Lord,_ what a child.

“Heaven’s sake, I turn my back for one moment and you go Creating another kid,” Crowley joked. “Bring the baby here, angel.”

Aziraphale laughed, but brought the baby—a little girl—over to the blanket and sat before Crowley. Crowley, meanwhile, shook the kids out of his hair and manifested a nappy, talcum powder, and a cream-colored blanket. Aziraphale diapered the little girl, marveling at his experience and how far he and Crowley have come since Raphael’s Creation, and he wrapped her up in the cream-colored blanket in an expert swaddle, not too tight and not too loose.

The baby sneezed, blinking round, bleary blue-green eyes up at the world. She had round pupils and soft, chubby cheeks and _oh, _she was so _sweet._

A chubby fist had emerged from the blanket to grab hold of Crowley’s finger, and Aziraphale _swore _he could’ve Created another being right there on the ground. He sniffed and laughed, joy seeping in at all edges like light.

“She seems to like you quite a lot,” Aziraphale murmured, rocking her gently as she flailed tiny arms.

“She’s so small, Papa,” Raph said. “Oh! Can I hold her?”

Crowley sat back and took the little girl, and Aziraphale helped teach Raphael how to hold her. Raphael stared down at her with wide sea-glass eyes, cooing at her and swaying gently like how Crowley would.

“My dear,” Aziraphale said when he took the newborn carefully back from Raph.

“Yes?” Crowley answered looking up from a quick signed conversation with Sam, who’d been learning in increments and was too curious about what in the world his papa was doing.

“I think,” the angel said, pausing meaningfully as he met the gaze of his husband, eyes dancing with mirth, “I’d like to name her Jay, if that’s alright with you.”

Crowley’s face split in a grin. “You’re a bastard,” he giggled. “Stars, angel, I love you so much.”

“And I, you, my love,” Aziraphale responded smiling at his growing family around him. “And I, you.”

** _X._ **

Raphael liked football. Raphael liked football _a lot._

He was rather good at it, if he did say so himself. The school’s team had appointed him to the football team solely because he ran fast, and he could kick _really _hard. So now, at eleven years old, five years after first starting to play, Raphael was the star player of his school’s football team. Dad and Papa came to every game, and they usually brought along Anathema and Newton and Adam, Pepper, Wensleydale, and Brian. Lucy, Sam, and Jay would go off to get fizzy drinks halfway through the game, typically because Aunt Lilith and Uncle Lucifer would finally show up and give them a few bucks to blow. His little siblings would always buy a fizzy for him, too, though, and save it for him until he finished _(i.e.: won) _the game.

This game was almost through, and Raph’s uncle and aunt hadn’t showed up. The sun beat down on him. Sweat poured down his back and spilled into his eyes. The home team and the opposing team were head to head, point to point, goal to goal. He had the ball, was working it up the pitch, was _bound _to break the tie, and—

Two strangers eyed him from the sidelines, a broad man in a smart grey suit and a military woman with her hair done so tight, it looked painful. The man met his eyes and smiled something terrifying, the woman wagged her fingertips in a cheery little wave, and Raphael…

Raphael lost his footing and skidded into the dirt and fell.

A whistle sounded. The opposing team had stolen the ball, and made the goal across the pitch, and their team made the final goal. Raphael’s team was thrown by the defeat. Someone came and helped him up.

Raphael was silent all throughout the aftergame and the ride home and his shower and dinner and all that.

Dad came into his room at lights out. He sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing his hand up and down Raphael’s back comfortingly. Raphael remained where he was lying, facing the wall, and pretended he didn’t know his dad was in the room.

“I know you’re awake, darling,” Dad sighed.

Raphael didn’t move, didn’t respond. Strange violet eyes bore into his skull.

“Something happened,” his dad continued. “I don’t know what, but you were about to make a goal. Tell me about it.”

He curled his fist into his blankie—something he’d deny that he still had, but the yellow baby blanket was something he found comfort in. He turned his face more to the right, so that half of his face was smothered by his blankie. He didn’t know why he was feeling this so strongly, couldn’t even determine _what _he was feeling.

“My darling, I’m not angry or upset with you,” Dad said, smoothing a hand across Raphael’s hair, front to back. “Neither is your papa, for that matter. We just want to know what’s wrong. Because something happened when you were out on the pitch, and you were about to make a goal. But I saw you look opposite where we all were watching, and then you dropped. Did…” He sucked in a small, quivering gasp, as if the idea hurt him. “Did someone hurt you? Or threaten you? Were they out there today?”

“No,” Raphael said, and his voice was thick and clogged with tears he hadn’t thought were coming. “No, I just… I don’t know.”

“You can talk to us, darling.” Dad shifted, his hand coming to Raph’s hair again.

The boy shook his head; he didn’t know what there was _to _talk about. _Nothing had happened. _He kept telling himself that, but it didn’t excuse the memory of faint light radiating from two strangers on the sideline of his football game who’d looked at him, looked _through _him and…

“But you _can, _Raphael,” his dad insisted. “About anything or nothing at all. You saw something out there today, and it’s okay if you want to talk about it and it’s okay if you don’t, but you can talk to me and papa about _anything. _You know we love you, darling.”

Dad shifted again, hand tracking smooth lines up and down Raphael’s spine for a long time.

“I don’t know,” Raphael admitted finally, the tears boiling over as he turned over to be accepted into the safety of his dad’s warm embrace. “I don’t know why it scared me, but I-I…”

Dad held him tight and close, and Raphael could feel his long hair tickling the back of his own neck.

“Do you want to talk about what it was?” Dad murmured into Raph’s hair.

“I-I don’t _know _what it was,” Raph cried. “I don’t know why it scared me, but it—”

He stopped, breath coming in gasps. Dad held him, rocked from side to side. There was quiet save for Raphael’s crying for a long moment.

“But it _terrified _you,” Dad finished.

“Yeah…”

“Well.” His dad pulled away, moving his hands behind Raph to snatch up his blankie and wrap it around his shaking shoulders. “It’s a good thing you’re never too old to come spend the night with me and papa.”

Dad lead him out of his bedroom, tucked Raphael beneath his arm, and they shuffled off toward the master bedroom of the Tadfield house. Papa was sat up in bed, wearing striped white-and-blue cotton pajamas despite the fact that he wasn’t going to sleep, and he had a book on his lap and a cup of cocoa in his hand. Dad had Raphael get into bed first, and the boy curled up against his papa, who skimmed a soft hand through his hair and smiled kindly down at him. Then Dad climbed into bed, adjusted so Raph was lying on his shoulder, and pulled the covers up over them.

Before Raphael awoke the next morning, all three of his little siblings had ended up in the bed with him, Dad, and Papa.

** _XI._ **

“How are you feeling, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked.

“Alright, I s’pose,” Adam answered, shrugging. He’d grown into a fine young man, and he was twenty-four now. After finishing his last years of school, he’d spent a few years back home, figuring things out and working a job to save up money to pay for university. He’d managed to get into one, finally, and was shooting for a degree in creative writing. “Kind of nervous, if I’m being honest.”

“Aw, and why’s that?” Crowley lounged in her lawn chair, watching as the kids charged at each other with old wooden swords and new cardboard crowns. “Don’t tell me you’re getting cold feet, young man.”

Adam snorted. “Me? Never.” He paused and said, “But this isn’t Hogback Wood with Pepper, Brian, and Wensley. This is _university. _I actually have to write the bloody things down, now.”

That sent Crowley into fit of laughter she couldn’t contain. Sam glanced up from his battle with Jay only to get knocked flat. “Oh, stars, you crack me up. I don’t think there’s ever been anyone funnier than a retired Antichrist.”

“How about an angel and a demon who got _fired,” _Aziraphale huffed, eyes shining. “Or have you heard that one before, love?”

Crowley chuckled. “Only a few million times, angel. Now, Adam, when did the rest of them say they’d—”

“Oi! So _you’re _the culprits who stole the bloody things,” a rough voice called from beyond the backyard fence.

Crowley glanced up to see none other than Brian, sided by a laughing Wensleydale. The two had grown rather close in the time between finishing up school and getting into university. Wensleydale had just graduated university, Crowley noted, while Brian dropped out and instead started a community reservation project to help keep and restore wildlife spaces in England. Somehow, for some reason, the pair had managed close contact through the whole thing. It would be no surprise to anyone—except maybe to Brian and Wensleydale themselves—if they got together.

“Not like _you _were using ‘em!” Jay shot back, already crossing blades with her eldest brother. “You’re too busy doing all the muddy stuff.”

Brian and Wensleydale let themselves in, and Dog stood from his spot at Adam’s feet to go yap and bound around them. Dog hadn’t aged a day, of course; he was a Hellhound, after all, and he was to stay by his master’s side until the day the Antichrist went away for good. Anyone who mentioned Dog’s apparent immortality found themselves suddenly losing their train of thought and instead saying, “Oh, what a cute puppy!”

“How are you lot holding up?” Brian asked as he sat in the grass beside Adam. Dog jumped gleefully into his lap and immediately earned a load of belly scratched. Wensleydale sat beside him with little to no hesitation. They were close enough to brush sides. “Any new kids I don’t know about?”

“Wonderfully, I suppose,” Aziraphale said. “Jay is our youngest yet.”

“Raphael is the football team captain,” Crowley chipped in, watching her kids play with an earnest feeling of love. “Lucy is advancing quickly in her martial arts. Sam won a spelling bee recently, you know.”

“Did he?” Wensley asked. He called for Sam’s attention and said, “You didn’t tell me you were so gifted at spelling the _last _time I was over!”

Sam signed a simple, _You didn’t ask _and went back to dueling his twin.

“What about Jay?” Brian asked, getting Dog behind his ears.

“Oh, my starburst _loves _astronomy,” the demon gushed. She smiled at the youngest of their troupe of children. “Some nights, she’ll _beg _me to go up on the roof to look at the stars. Eventually, I gave in and made a stargazing spot.”

“Starmakers only!” Jay called. “Nobody else allowed.”

Adam snickered. “Whatever you say, tootsie pop.”

Pepper chose that moment to arrive, dressed in a smart suit tailored to perfection with her hair tied back. She looked, in a word, _professional. _She stepped into the backyard through the gate, greeting her friends with hugs and Crowley and Aziraphale with kisses on the cheeks.

“A diplomat at twenty-four,” Brian said. “I mean, who’d have _possible _guessed?”

“Oh, sod off,” Pepper answered. “It’s not like it’s just smiling and shaking hands. There’s dangerous jobs, sometimes.”

“Either way,” Adam cut in, “we’ve missed you, Pepper.”

“I’ve missed all of you, too,” she admitted. “And I mean _all _of you. Even the snot-noses.”

“Oh, you hear that?” Brian called. “She’s calling you lot _snot-noses _again.”

“Careful who you’re talking to,” Aziraphale warned with a smile, “or Lucy might just _kick _you in the nose.”

** _XII._ **

Aziraphale was reading to the kids.

Crowley only _barely _registered this himself, just waking up from a kip on the sofa. It was late afternoon, and he woke up to the gentle, up-down tone of his husband, reading quietly on a blanket newly laid out on the floor with all four children raptly listening. He just didn’t know how his angel _managed _it. A thirteen-year-old, two eleven-year-olds, and an eight-year-old all listening and paying attention. He didn’t even know what kind of a book could capture all of their minds just so.

Crowley watched the scene for a few minutes, still attempting to wake up enough. All the while, he planned out dinner—something special, for certain—and stopped dead at the fact that, well…

He’d never thought he’d have an actual _family. _Never thought he’d ever have anything close to a _facsimile _of family, let alone a husband who happened to be the angel he’d loved for millennium and kids that were actually his _without _all the mess. He’d let go of the idea of family the moment he saw Lucifer Fall.

Joy simmered over in his chest, and tears began to roll down his cheeks, and a bright light filled the family room.

A baby manifested on Crowley’s chest.

** _XIII._ **

The light did not fade.

Crowley sat up, cradling the newborn close, and watched as his shocked angel and children turned toward the source of light: a pillar of it in the hallway, pure and blinding and humming threateningly. The baby’s shrill cries broke the air. Crowley looked down, and took the baby in as quickly as what time he had left would allow.

He summoned a nappy and powder, and a white blanket. He diapered and swaddled her as quickly and comfortably as he could, given there was something—some_one—_of Heaven threatening him and his family.

Crowley jumped off the couch, pulled Raph up by his arm, and carefully laid the baby in his son’s arms. He grabbed up the twins and Jay, and ushered them _away._

He got all of them out into the backyard, slammed the sliding glass door shut before an ear-piercing sound shattered the air.

_BE NOT AFRAID._

Everything was absorbed into the light, and then Crowley and Aziraphale were gone.


	2. the aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are... settling isn't the word. Raphael and the others are in shock. Agnes Nutter had a backup plan.
> 
> Needless to say, things are brewing. Something lies in wait just beyond the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of blood/a single bloody handprint.

The words rang around Raphael’s skull, sending his ears abuzz. He couldn’t hear the desperate cries of his siblings or the shrieks of his newborn sister over the staticky, baritone hum of the pillar of light.

_I love you, _Dad mouthed, holding up the sign for it with one hand as he locked the backyard’s sliding glass door with the other. Beyond him, Pop had stood, and an invisible force of wind had begun to pull at him. What happened next was too fast for Raphael to really process, but he gave it his best shot anyway.

Something flew out of the pillar, and caught Dad in the side. Dad hunched, and Pop hollered, and then Dad slammed a hand on the sliding glass door and—

All that was left of their parents was a bloody handprint on the glass door and a pale blue cardigan on the floor.

Silence.

“We need to…” Raph choked on a sob that’d long delayed, fighting it down. “We need to find someone. We need an adult.”

“But Adam just went off to university,” Lucy protested. Her voice was breathy from shock. “And Pepper, Brian, and Wensley are all busy, too. Who’s going to—?” Her voice cracked and broke like glass, and bled into a sob.

Water splattered on Raphael’s neck, which was the only precursor to a rainstorm. The doors were locked from the inside, though, and the baby was beginning to cry again. He hadn’t noticed she’d stopped. He hunched, feeling hollow and bleak, to cover her, give her what little shelter he could. She didn’t deserve to live her first few moments in dismal conditions, didn’t deserve the feeling of misery that collapsed over the four of them like a wall of ice.

Jay took off toward the treehouse. Same and Lucy followed, hands intertwined, and Raphael watched as they got into their shelter. Overhead, the sky began to split open as though from some unseen force. Raphael made the quick trip toward the treehouse, sheltering his baby sister and making sure she neither suffocated against him nor got her neck snapped by the force of his movements. He was suddenly all too aware of how helpless she was, how helpless they _all _were, how… _fragile _all their bodies were.

His younger siblings were all ready gathered close beneath the large comforter they kept in the treehouse. Three white-blond heads emerged, shivering, and searched him with three pairs of waiting eyes.

The baby gurgled, and shrieked.

“Daddy’s hurt,” Jay whimpered. Her eyes were crystalline with tears, her face gone blotchy and red and her bottom lip jutting. “Raph, we need to help Daddy and Papa.”

Raphael was soaked to the bone. He’d been shaking before, but now he just felt tensed like a bowstring drawn taught, ready to fire, with no such relief in sight. “I…”

_They’re waiting, _he snapped at himself. _What would Pop do? What would they want?_

“We need to stay where we are,” Raphael said. He sounded more confident than he felt. There was a pit in his stomach. He felt breathless, but his voice came out like stone. “Dad and Pop would want us to stay here until the storm passed and then go to find help. It doesn’t necessarily have to be Adam and them. It could be…” He chewed his lip. Then, he reiterated, “When the storm passes, we find help. We need to get through the storm first, though, and we have, um. We need to keep our baby sister safe. For them.”

There was a moment. The rain came down in sheets, now. Lightning lit up the interior of the treehouse. Thunder crackled. The baby didn’t stop crying. Raph couldn’t blame her.

_Hold her, _Sam signed.

“What?” Raph said. He felt too tired. His eyes burned.

Sam pointed anxiously to the baby, then to himself, and his sentence became clearer. _Can I hold her?_

Raphael sniffled and set himself down on the carpeted floorboards. Sam scooched his way out from beneath the comforter and Jay took his edge in to tuck beneath the warmth. Carefully, Raphael laid the baby in his brother’s arms and then adjusted. Sam smiled, his hair sweeping out from behind an ear and hiding his face as Dad’s hair sometimes did, and wasn’t _that _a stab to the gut.

He tried not to think of it. He tried not to think of the reason Dad was _not _currently setting the newborn into Papa’s awaiting arms, the reason Raph was setting her into Sam’s arms instead, the reason they weren’t safe inside the house during a thunderstorm, or why Sam was starting to cry, why his expression was so torn between joy and rage and desperation and overwhelming _upset _right now when an eleven-year-old should _never _feel like that.

Raphael knew what Adam Young had gone through at eleven. The twins deserved _none _of that. Not if he could help it.

Sam hurriedly held the baby back out and Raphael obligingly took her. Sam twisted away, looking scorned and burnt to a crisp, wiping away tears that’d already begun to fall.

_Thank you, _he said with shaky hands. _I’m sorry. Thank you._

“You’re welcome,” Raph croaked, and then collapsed back and leaned against the wall, facing his three siblings and holding the fourth. “Let’s wait out the storm. When it stops, we go out and find someone. All of us, together. No splitting up.”

Lucy nodded, face stony and fixed like a wall. She’d likely beat anyone who tried to get in their way now to a pulp, but Raph knew her better than that. She fought down sadness and converted it into anger. She punched and kicked her way through problems. She was hardy and strong and just a touch reckless, which made her a bit harder to withstand in a fight. It’s why she’d been enrolled in martial arts.

“I’m quite… tired,” Jay mumbled, curling into Lucy’s side. “Raphie, would you like to get under the blanket with us?”

He considered it for a moment before he said, “No, I’d rather not. Sam, get yourself under the blanket. You lot, get some rest. I’ll keep watch for the storm and keep the baby settled.”

Sam crawled over, offering a folded blanket. Raphael leaned forward, allowing his brother to wrap it around his shoulders. He said a quiet thank you, and then Sam was beneath the comforter again, curling up on Jay’s cold side so a twin flanked her in either direction. Raphael settled back against the wall and watched the twins drift up but, for someone so exhausted, Jay didn’t seem to have it in herself to actually do the sleeping bit.

She whimpered. “Raphie—”

“I know,” he said. “You’re tired and cold and things are really rather scary right now. I promise, Bluejay, things are going to be quite alright, if I have any say at all.”

Jay tucked into herself a little tighter, ducking so her head was beneath the blanket, too. Her weary sea-green eyes peered out at him. A stray curl, white-gold and glossy, popped out. After a few short seconds where only the patter of rain, the clap of thunder, and the baby’s crying permeated the air, Raphael realized she was waiting. He sighed, releasing the tension in his neck so his head lolled to his shoulder.

_“Rare is this love, keep it covered,” _he sang quietly into the quickly fading day. _“I need you to run to me, run to me , lover. Run until you feel your lungs bleedin’…”_

It was the last thing Raph could consciously recall before he opened his eyes the next morning. The baby was whining and fussy in his arms, and the kids were still fast asleep, and the sky was yellow from daybreak and the long-gone rain, and…

And someone was talking somewhere below the treehouse, just close enough that Raph could hear.

“No, I’m _sure _it was a supernatural anomaly,” a woman hissed. “I know how their miracles and blessings show up on the radar, Newt. This was too big for one of those.”

“Do you think one of the kids might’ve unlocked their powers?” called a nervous-sounding man, and Raphael pieced it together.

Newton and Anathema. _Help was here._

His limbs were stiff and aching. He needed to stretch out his arms sometime in the near future, and maybe eat something. He was rather hungry, now that he could think semi-clearly.

“Explain it again?” he heard Newt say after a beat of silence.

“When Crowley and Aziraphale perform miracles, there’s a little tick. A bump, if you will,” began Anathema. “When one of them, you know, uh… _Creates, _there’s a slightly bigger spike. Let’s call this a hill. For comparison, here’s last night’s hill…” A pause as she supposedly showed Newton the hill. “…and last night’s _mountain.”_

Raphael felt sick to his stomach, which wasn’t befitting of someone who hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, but he managed to stand anyway. He cradled the squirming baby with one arm and used the other to climb down from the treehouse, slow as he could to avoiding jostling his sister any further. His face felt cold and tight, like he was outgrowing it. He shivered intermittently and he didn’t know whether it was from the chill clinging to his bones, the hunger, or the shock.

“Anathema!” he called over the fence. “Newton! We’re back here.”

Anathema came bolting around the side of the house holding a tablet-shaped thing, Newt hot on her heels. Her face fell at the sight of Raph, and then her eyes zeroed in on the baby.

“Oh my…” She stopped, reached over the fence with one arm to give Raphael an awkward half-hug. “Honey, where are your parents? What happened?”

The sound of creaking and tired cries behind him notified Raphael that his siblings were awake, scared, and coming out of the treehouse. He glanced over his shoulder at them, eyes wafting over three heads of white-blond curls. Lucy, her hair cut short but the longer part on top no doubt getting in her face. Sam, hair to his chin in a curtain of pure dawn clouds. Jay, hiding behind a blanket of those same curls in a patch to her shoulders. With all three of them accounted for, and the fourth in Raphael’s arms, he bundled that little bit of meager satisfaction and turned back to the adults.

“Don’t know what happened,” he said, voice a tremor in his mouth, bitter and frightened. “Dad was taking a kip. Pop was reading to the four of us. Then there was light, and Dad gave me a new baby and shoved us outside and—”

He gasped, and then sobbed. His knees were jelly. He didn’t see it happen, but he was suddenly engulfed in Anathema’s arms. Newton collected the younger kids, leading them away from the yard and out of the gate. Anathema did the same for him, careful and halting.

“Let’s get you to Jasmine Cottage, all right?” the witch said.

“Okay,” Raph hissed, trying not to reveal the tears gathering in his eyes. “W-we need to come back, l-later. We need our stuff.”

Anathema agreed, and then they were all being lead through the backroads of Lower Tadfield, through the shortcut to get to Anathema and Newton’s house. Raphael help the baby close, even as she began shrieking her cries.

It hit him, stepping into Jasmine Cottage. The baby was _hungry._

Raphael took to the nearest dining room chair, ignoring the clinging of his clothes, and thought, _What are babies supposed to eat?_

A bottle of formula promptly appeared on the table before him. He sat up and sat the baby up slightly with one arm supporting her, grabbing the bottle. The formula inside was warm. Raph held the bottle close to the baby’s mouth. She latched onto the nipple of the bottle and began to suckle.

Raphael got an odd glance from the couple, but they just turned and continued to herd his siblings toward the living room. Raph kept his eyes steady on the newborn.

_His sister._

“You’re rather small,” he murmured to her. He swayed a little, back and forth. Like a hypnotized snake. “I don’t think I quite liked being small when I was your age. I must’ve not. Dad and Pop say I was always crying.” He let out a short, wet laugh. “You haven’t met Papa yet. You’ve met Dad, of course. I don’t think he got to name you. Did he get to name you?”

The baby waved a tiny, meaty fist and did not respond. Raphael watched her with unblinking eyes.

“No, I didn’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m going to have to change you, aren’t I? Your nappy, I mean. Maybe I can find a way to carry you so my arms don’t get so tired.”

“Your dad used a sling for that.”

Raphael looked up from the baby—who he was starting to refer to, in his head, as The Baby, which was rather unfortunate since only the title should’ve been capitalized and not both the title _and _the article, stupid grammar. Anathema perched at the edge of the table, looking a little worse for wear.

“I could also teach you how to change diapers, if you need any help with that,” she continued, looking away briefly. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“Girl,” Raphael answered. “I remember, Dad Created her when Pop was reading, and I looked back at him and it was a girl. Doesn’t have a name yet, rather. They got, um…” He hunched a little, watching as The Baby drank her milk greedily. “Taken. There was this… _thing. _It looked like a summoning circle made of light. They got sucked in. It— It hurt Dad.”

“Newt _did _say something about that,” Anathema muttered. “He was looking for injuries, but the handprint had to be too big for any of you. Regardless, it was good that he checked for injuries. You know, just in case.”

“Yeah.” Raph pulled the empty bottle away, hushing The Baby when she began to cry. He lifted her up, putting her to his shoulder, and patted her back until she burped. “We don’t have any clothes for her yet.”

Anathema stared at him for a long moment. “You manifested a bottle full of formula.”

“I did,” the thirteen-year-old acknowledged.

“Why not do that with any supplies you might need for her?”

Raphael paused. He looked up at Anathema, then stared down at The Baby, searching her like she knew how to answer that. He closed his eyes, sighing, and imagined it: a changing mat, a new nappy, wipes, powder, baby clothes. When he opened his eyes again, sure enough, the array sat neatly on the kitchen table.

The Baby gurgled at him. Raph set her down on the changing mat, unfolding the swaddled blanket from around her. Tears pricked his eyes at the thought of undoing Dad’s work, but he swallowed the lump in his throat and got to work. Anathema settled in beside him to help.

By the end of it, Raphael knew how to change a nappy. He snapped on the plain white bodysuit and pulled on little blue tights with tiny yellow ducks, marveling at the being making little noises on the mat. Anathema helped him use the white blanket to make a sling, and Raph used one hand to support his sister.

“They’re taking turns in the shower,” Newt said as he entered. He paused, eyes on The Baby and her new duckling trousers. “Right. Baby. New?”

“Quite,” Raphael answered, clearing his throat. “She popped up right before they, ah… Anyway. They didn’t get to name her. Papa didn’t even get to _hold _her. Dad just barely had enough time to put her in a nappy and blanket.”

“Do you think you’d be able to handle going back to your house with me, sweetie?” Anathema was going for the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of Sunny D and another of apple juice. Raph accepted the apple juice when she offered it. “We need to search for clothes, and your siblings need new close when they get out from their showers.”

Raphael took a long drink of juice, relishing against the coolness of it. His throat felt raw. He hadn’t the slightest notion as to why; he had _wanted _to scream when it happened, had wanted to say _something, _but he’d barely spoken last night. His throat shouldn’t have felt this way.

Which was a distraction from what he _should _have been thinking. He _did _need to get back to the house, _did _need to find some of the extra baby things that Dad and Pop never seemed to run out of even _without _using their powers, and he _did _need to get changes of clothes for him and his siblings. Maybe he’d even wipe up the handprint. Maybe he’d even stop by his parents’ closet, pick up a few jackets to…

_No, _he chided himself. _They’re not gone forever._

“Yeah,” he told Anathema. “I think I must, rather. They’re quite picky about their clothes.”

The walk back was one taken in silence. The Baby fell asleep again, snoring quietly on Raph’s chest. Anathema had a thick, heavy book beneath her arm. She kept taking wide looks around, as though watching for something. Raphael felt his heart palpitate at the sight of his home.

There was someone in his backyard.

“Hey,” he called, speeding up, one arm wrapped around his baby sister. “Hey! You!”

The stranger turned, meeting his eye briefly, their dark eyes containing too many eons of knowledge for him to comprehend. Then, with a puff of smoke and the smell of fire, they disappeared as though falling through the ground. Raphael slowed to a halt. Anathema jogged to catch up with him and eyes the upturned dirt in the stranger’s wake.

_“And there, in ye angel and demon’s backyarde, will be that Demon Prince of Helle,” _the woman murmured. “That means that was… Beelzebub, Prince of Hell. Raphael—”

“Of course,” Raph growled. “Of _course. _I should’ve known. The King of Hell would never want anything to do with any of us unless he was trying to gain our trust. Well, he means _nothing _to me. Stupid Satan and his stupid kingdom.” He took a deep breath, then another. The Baby stirred, gurgling. “Come on. There’s a key taped beneath the mailbox.”

The house still smelled the same. That is to say, like old books and Pop’s cologne, like cinnamon apple air freshener, like earthy soils and green plants, like all the things the house was _supposed _to smell like.

It was too… _perfect._

Raphael wandered further into the house in a daze. His tongue flickered from between his lips unbidden, and he tasted blood on the air. The smell made him gag, but he managed to keep the bile down. The Baby twitched. Raphael held her close. The living room was just as he’d seen it last night: Pop’s worn blue cardigan was lying, abandoned, on the floor. The throw blanket and pillow were strewn about on the sofa where Dad had been sleeping. The blanket on the floor was folded about from the force of whatever had been here. A red handprint marred the sliding glass doors.

Raphael stood, frozen, and stared at it.

“Heaven must’ve taken Papa,” he said. “And, if that was Beelzebub, Hell had to have taken Dad.”

“No,” Anathema said.

Raph stared at her. Anathema displayed her book, which was titled _The Unburnte Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch._

“If Hell didn’t take him,” the thirteen-year-old said, swaying with combined dizziness and need to settle The Baby, “then why was Beelzebub in my backyard?”

Anathema considered this. Then she stood beside him and opened the book, pointing one manicured fingernail at a prophecy.

_Read well, sonn of angel and daemon, for thefe next dayf will be the hardeft you will face._

“Right,” Raph said, blinking owlishly. “Okay. Let me just… get everything, and then we’ll go back to Jasmine Cottage to, ah… figure all of those out.”

With nothing else to say, Raphael gathered the things he and his siblings would need, picked the blue cardigan up off the floor and the throw blanket off the couch, and followed Anathema out and away from his home. He locked the door behind, tucking the key into his pocket safely.

Back at Jasmine Cottage, Sam had just gotten out of the shower and Jay had gotten in, which meant the twins were sitting in the guest bedroom in big towels, waiting for Raph to get back with clothes. Luckily, he’d just gotten back, so the twins separated and got dressed. Lucy emerged wearing her favorite pair of torn jeans and a grey jumper. Sam came out wearing his khaki shorts and a soft pale green tee shirt. Raph made sure to sit them both down on the edge of the guest bed and fiddle with their hair until Lucy’s was brushed back and away from her face and Sam’s was French braided with as few fly-away hairs as the teen could manage.

When Jay came out of the shower, Raphael handed off her clothes and sent her back into the bathroom to change. She came back out in soft black tights and a white tee shirt, wearing a cream-colored cardigan over the ensemble. Raphael put off his own shower to fix her hair, too, pulling it back in a bun like Dad did for her when they went stargazing.

Raphael entrusted The Baby to Anathema and took a quick shower, then dressed in a pair of worn-out black jeans that’d long since turned grey and a short-sleeved white button-up. He donned Pop’s pale blue cardigan and it still felt warm, as though Papa had just taken it off moments ago. He came back out to a fresh-cooked breakfast and all his siblings waiting at the dinner table. Raphael took a seat beside Anathema, remade his sling, and then planted The Baby firmly into it, swaying her softly and easing her frantic cries. Newton set out plates for everyone and then took his own seat at the empty spot beside Anathema.

The food was undoubtedly good, but it tasted like ash in Raphael’s mouth. Anathema brought her prophecy book to the table and set it between her plate and Raph’s.

“You’re going to need to see this,” Anathema murmured before opening up the book.

The first prophecy Raphael read was this: _Worry not, childe, for ye parents live! Rejoice of that, and then gette back to worke. A reprieve muft be had for you to figure ye situation. Ye have much to do._

Raphael swallowed, pushing away his plate. He dragged the book further toward himself, glancing at the forlorn faces around the table, and pulled his pair of glasses from the cardigan’s right hand pocket where he’d stored them.

He did, indeed, have much work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are appreciated, tell me what you think! kudos are also appreciated. updates will be... sporadic. find me on tumblr @kkid-nothingg
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	3. dreams vs nightmares (i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If nothing else, things are... complicated.
> 
> We get a look in at the Ineffable Husbands' punishments, get a peek at The Unburnte Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, and a look into Raphael's subconscious.
> 
> Adam is contacted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: nightmares :(, bookshop fire, mention of mind control(?), and The Bloody Handprint

“Aziraphale?”

He felt… _faint. _Blackness swallowed his sight, and his skin was too static, like his true form lied just beneath and fought to be free. He didn’t want to open his eyes yet. His corporation felt warm, like waking up on a summer day with the sun warming him up and he just wanted to lie _forever _in this moment, and—

“Aziraphale!”

He knew that voice. How did he know that voice? He began to peel his eyes open, disoriented and suddenly cold.

“Aziraphale, _please! _Angel, I need you, _please.”_

“Crowley?” he called, sitting up.

“Yes, it’s me!” Crowley answered, voice echoing all around Aziraphale. “I can see you, angel, turn around?”

Aziraphale turned in a full circle, eyes only finding the leering darkness around him. He pressed a hand to his abdomen, where a gut-wrenching _something _began to unearth.

“Crowley, my dear,” he started. “I don’t see you.”

No response. Then, there, in the distance, a flicker of movement.

Aziraphale turned fully toward it. He froze in his place.

The bookshop, on fire. The Bentley, pulling up to it. Crowley, stepping out and running into the burning bookshop.

Aziraphale ran toward the bookshop and careened inside. “Crowley!” he yelled. “Crowley, where are you? Crowley!”

_“Bastards!” _came the disembodied voice of his husband. _“All of you!”_

Ashes rained down on Aziraphale’s head. Flames licked his arms and face like a lover’s caress. A feeling of hopelessness echoed through the destruction. Crowley was nowhere to be seen, but Aziraphale could hear him, crying, burning.

“Crowley!” he hollered. “Crowley, where did you go? Crowley!”

Blackness swallowed everything up. Aziraphale coughed, but no smoke clung to his lungs.

What had he been doing? Who had he been looking for? Where was he?

_There. _A flash of movement. Aziraphale turned fully toward it. A black-clad body rushed into a burning bookshop.

Aziraphale followed him.

~*~

“A consciousness trap? Gabriel, I must say. This is unexpected.”

“Yes, Michael, but it’s working! We have full autonomic control of Aziraphale and Crowley’s actions. The principality is loyal to Heaven once more and we have a secret weapon when we need it.”

“How are we keeping control of _both _of them? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Simple: trap Aziraphale’s conscious state in Crowley’s mind, pick a painful memory, and put them into it on a loop. They’ve completely gotten lost, and only Crowley has a vague recollection of those brats of theirs when he’s not busy reliving his worst nightmare.”

“This is excellent, I admit. What of the children, Gabriel? Are we still using the boy?”

“Of course. It’s going to be the most well-played betrayal anyone has ever seen!”

~*~

Long ago, Agnes Nutter wrote her book of prophecies, yes. _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch _was not a smash hit in the bookstores, as has been previously determined. And yes, Anathema Device _did _burn _Ye Saga Continues _some fourteen years earlier but, well…

Agnes Nutter would not have been easily fooled. She’d _foretold _the burning of the rough draft, and had the foresight to publish it privately. The book had been titled _The Unburnte Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, _and she’d set it on a journey so it was eventually buried in a Tadfield time capsule in the 1900s, to be unearthed some five years ago.

On a parchment inside the cover read this: _Gift thife book to one Anathema Device-Pulsifer of Jafmine Cottage. Tell her not to burne it thife time._

Unsettled, the village-appointed mayor called out to the crowd, “Does anyone know one Anathema Device-Pulsifer?”

To which, someone in the crowd responded, “Why, yes, actually! She’s a great friend of ours!”

This someone happened to be, at the time, a nineteen-year-old Wensleydale. Retrieving the book from the village mayor and delivering it safely to Jasmine Cottage was one of the last things the Them did together before they all went their separate ways. That is to say, university. Wensley would major in natural science. Pepper would major in political science with a minor in linguistics. Brian tried for several different subjects, which he eventually dropped to go off and join a committee to preserve wildlife in England. Adam would go to university for creative writing in five years yet, but he stayed home that year to earn money to pay for university.

“I’m _not _taking that,” Anathema said to the Them at the door, eyes boring a hole into the prophecy book.

“It says not to burn it this time,” Pepper deadpanned.

“It might be helpful, actually,” Wensleydale reasoned. “Something big might be coming.”

“Yeah, what if…” Brian conjured the words from deep in his mind. “What if the world tries to end again?”

“I concur,” Adam spoke up. He pushed his long, unruly hair out of his eyes. “You burned the rough drafts, right? Well, if Agnes is being so insistent, then you might want to actually take this one and _not _burn it.”

Anathema pondered it all but, still, she looked resistant. Inside, Newton could be heard singing badly to the radio he’d managed to touch and not break. He was making dinner, certainly. Anathema stepped back slightly, hand bringing the door a little more closed.

“If you don’t take it, I’m giving it to Aziraphale!” Adam warned, voice coming in a rush.

Anathema swung the door back open, face growing defensive. “No!” She sighed heavily, body drooping as she rubbed her eyes. “Fine, give me the book.”

Adam held out the prophecy book. “I’m telling Aziraphale anyway, so you’ll have to be forced to keep it.”

Anathema groaned, accepted the book, and shut the door.

~*~

That’s what happened five years ago.

Now, Raphael sat at the supper table in Jasmine Cottage, a transportable bassinet beside him, his dinner long gone cold. He was a little more than halfway through the book, now. He’d been reading since early this morning when they’d all sat down for breakfast, had taken several brief breaks to take care of The Baby or take an Advil to stave off the biting migraine, and now it was past ten at night. He’d gone back to the house again once to get night clothes for himself and his siblings, and everyone but Anathema and he was asleep. He reached out a hand every few minutes to gently rock the bassinet, or got a forkful of cold mash potatoes or chicken tender, but he otherwise stayed still.

_Ye cominge dayfe will be filled with strife, childe, but finish ye supper. It hafe gonne colde._

Raphael looked up and immediately regretted it. He collapsed back in his chair, groaning as his vision swam. He took a cautious glance down, like the words would disappear if he didn’t look at them constantly.

_Leaft I reminde you of ye eyef, serpent boye._

“Right,” he murmured, yanking off his specs and placing them beside the book. He pulled his meal forward. “Do you recall how man Advil I’ve taken today?”

Anathema, who’d been wandering the kitchen like a ghost, looked at him, then down at the hand not occupied by a mug of coffee. She took a few moments to count, then winced. “Around five?”

“Jolly good,” Raph said. “I need _just _one more. Please?”

He’d begun to say that particular turn of phrase around three Advil ago. Anathema crossed her arms and glared at him.

“Oh, _fine,” _the thirteen-year-old muttered. “No more, I get it. Not like it’ll really hurt me, though. I’m not _human, _Anathema.”

“No, but you’re still a little boy,” the witch said. “I’d rather not give you some sort of liver illness by the time your parents get back.”

Raphael shut his mouth. He looked away from the woman, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He made a vague gesture toward his meal with his free hand and wafts of steam floated off the mashed potatoes and home-fried chicken tenders. The smell made Raphael’s stomach rumble. He dove into his dinner with a refurbished fervor.

“Once you get finished, off to bed,” Anathema said. Raphael’s eyes drooped at the mention of an actual bed. “And don’t you _dare _try and stay to wash your plate. I’ll take care of that.”

Raphael finished dinner, leaving the plate and fork in the sink with some remorse, and then change The Baby’s nappy when she began to cry. That finished, he unlocked the bassinet’s wheels and moved the bassinet to the living room, beside the sofa bed Anathema had set up for him. He locked the wheels and settled in, already having taken a shower for the night. The exhaustion wasn’t long to take over.

Which brought him here, to… whatever this was.

_“The end of days has been here and gone,” _said an aged woman’s voice. _“This is the beginning of something new, and its name begins with the Healer’s son.”_

Raphael stood on lush green grass, among wild blossoms and verdant green trees. Birds chirped. Animals skittered around his feet, chasing each other in some great game. White-stoned walls surrounded the garden on all sides.

_“Hell hath no fury like the Healer and his longing,” _said the same aged woman. Then, after a moment, _“The Queen of all brimstone and hellfire will be upon ye soon, young Raphael. Ye will face your parents, as they once were. This is the beginning of something new.”_

“You know,” spoke up a very familiar voice from behind Raph which brought tears to his eyes, “you never _did _tell me your name, angel.”

“Well, if you _must _know,” answered another very familiar voice, closer still and closing in. “My name is Aziraphale.”

“Ah, Of The Healer,” Dad praised. “Very fitting, hm?”

“I’ve not the slightest notion as to what you speak of, Crawley,” Pop scoffed. Then, after a shocked beat, “Oh, Lord. Ah. Young man, might I ask… Where did _you _come from?”

A hand found Raphael’s shoulder and he jumped, letting out a shrill squeak. He turned on his heel, facing… his parents.

“You’re looking a bit pale,” Dad murmured, rushing forth. He stretched out two familiar hands, the nails ragged and sharp. Raphael ducked away, scrambling backward. “Hey, hey, hush. You’re alright, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Crawley, I think it’d be best for you not to, ah…” Pop moved, setting down a green basket of fruits. He moved up beside Dad, lifting his arms toward Raph. “Dear boy, you needn’t worry. I won’t hurt you, and I won’t let this wily demon bring you any harm, either.”

“I-I don’t,” Raphael stammered, sinking onto the soft ground. He curled up, burying his face in his hands. His flannel pajama pants smelled like home. He shuddered.

His parents muttered a fast-paced conversation. After a pause of silence, two warm weights settled on either side of Raphael. A slim arm wrapped around his waist as it always did and a thicker arm found its way around Raph’s shoulders as it always did.

“Something happened, no?” Dad asked quietly. “I know you must not be from around here. Probably not even from this time period. What year…?”

“2019,” Raph replied faintly, feeling nauseous. “I was born in 2006.”

“Right, so.” Pop shifted, purposefully moving so he was sitting cross-legged. “You went… two thousand and nineteen years back in time?”

“No,” Raphael whined, shaking his head into the knees of his flannel pants. “I went six thousand and twenty-three years back in time, but I was sleeping, so I might just be dreaming.”

“The way you’re describing how humans calculate time is bloody confusing.” Dad huffed, then leaned rather close into Raphael. “What are you, exactly? You have… angelic and demonic energy, which equally boosts each other up and cancels each other out. You’re not _human, _certainly not.”

Raphael laughed wetly, pushing himself up. He took a few anxious steps forward and turned around, crossing one hand across his abdomen and settling his elbow on his fist to play with his bottom lip. His eyes felt hot. His head throbbed.

“No,” he concurred. “Can’t you see? Not human, but I have angelic and demonic energies.”

Dad and Pop stared at him from the grass. Pop’s eyebrows were drawn, his eyes squinted. Dad had his lip jutted out like he did when he was considering one of the potted indoor plants for inspection.

“Maybe this’ll ring a bell, eh?” Raph gestured to his right vaguely, and Sam and Lucy appeared barefoot in the grass, running about and chasing each other in all their happy unison. “Or maybe this.” Another gesture to his left and Jay was lying back on a blanket spread on the grass, squinting lazily at the sky. “Or, no, how about this?” Raphael pushed his hands down and the bassinet appeared directly beside him.

The Baby’s shrill cry broke the air. Raph gripped the edge of her bed for support.

“A whole _family,” _Pop observed. “How fascinating. However, you, ah, seem _quite _upset, my dear boy, and we’ve still not the slightest clue about what’s happened with you.”

Raphael stared long and hard at him, eyes burning and lip trembling. His fists clenched. His face turned red as he grew warm, and he turned his eyes away from them. The tears came down not long after. He looked to Dad.

Dad had gotten it.

_Dad understood._

“It’s something to do with us, then,” he said softly. “Me and Aziraphale both, yeah?”

“Hn… yeah,” Raph managed. Sam shot a sign toward his twin. Lucy yelled something about crepes. “Yeah, it’s you both.”

“Tell us about it?” Pop prompted gently, moving to stand.

Raphael looked at him again. The pale blue cardigan he’d nabbed off the floor felt too big. He sniveled, hunching protectively over the bassinet.

“Oh, your _eyes,” _Dad murmured. “Oh, my darling, that’s _it,_ isn’t it?”

Raph sobbed out. Dad rushed forward, made himself bigger, wrapped Raphael in warm, slender arms. He smelled like apples and brimstone. The boy cried into his dark grey robes.

“There’s a lad, you’re alright,” Dad shushed him, stroking gentle hands into Raph’s hair. “You’ll be quite alright, darling, I know it.”

Pop hesitantly joined in on the embrace, slipping in on Raph’s right side, and a faint press of lips against Raphael’s hair told him of Pop’s further revelations.

“I admit, the other three _do _look quite like me,” he muttered.

“You’re all brothers and sisters, aren’t you?” Dad pulled back slightly, but Raphael’s panicked anchor around his thin hips halted him rather quickly. “And you look a bit like me. The little lovelies running about have two different eye colors, and you don’t see golden eyes like that just every day.”

“Quite so, dear boy,” Pop agreed. He was smiling wide, and his face was lined by it. “Both of us, right? Must be. Somehow.”

_The boy will cracke. He is moste intelligente, but his mind will conjurre the false comfortt._

And Raphael woke up.

He was sticky and sweaty. He felt faint. He was having tremors, and his eyes still streamed with tears. His head throbbed, his chest ached, his everything _burned. _It felt as though he were being torn apart from the inside. The sofa bed was matted with his perspiration. The cardigan had come off him in the night, and now hung off the side of the sofa bed. The sun streamed in. Birds chirped happily outside.

It was _wrong._

“Hey, hey.” Anathema appeared above him, looking more than a bit concerned. “Hey, sweetie. It’s okay. You developed a really bad fever last night. I was just getting the blankets untangled from around you, alright?”

“Where’s Dad?” he breathed, grabbing a handful of the bedding. “Where’s Papa? They were— They were _here, _where are they.”

“Oh, honey,” Anathema sighed. Her face was full of… pity. Raph didn’t like it. “That fever must’ve done a number on you. Crowley and Aziraphale were, um. They were taken.”

Raphael didn’t thrash or yell or cry. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and counted to nine. “I think I’m going to go take a cold shower, Anathema.”

“That’s a very good idea, sweetheart,” the witch praised. “It’ll help you lower your fever. Go ahead. Your day clothes should be dried by now.”

~*~

Adam was very busy writing poetry about his boyfriend when he got the phone call.

“Well, I was thinking of it recently,” Warlock was saying from atop Adam’s relatively sturdy desk, “and I think, you know, Nanny _might’ve _been right.”

Warlock’s nanny was beginning to sound _a lot _like Crowley, but Adam was loathe to admit that aloud.

“She’s the one who taught me to paint, right,” Warlock continued, unbothered by the chatter of his partner’s typing. “And I really, _really _don’t like political science, no matter _how _much my father wants me to follow his footsteps ‘cause, you know, at the end of the day, he wasn’t there for me and he only wanted to pay for my trip to college because the agreement promised that I’d end up _just _like him.”

Adam nodded, humming in agreement. “Sounds like he’s just trying to get back at your mum for custody.”

“Right?” Warlock scoffed, toeing off his shoes. “That’s what I thought! Anyway, I was thinking of digging into mom’s old records about me so I could get in touch with Nanny again and consult her about—”

_“—CAN’T DO IT!” _a young Raphael screeched from Adam’s age-old cellphone. _“AAAHH! YOU SHOULD— HEHEHE! ANSWER THE PHONE!”_

Adam picked up his phone, eyed the caller ID—which read _Permanent American Occultist Neighbor—_and pardoned himself to his boyfriend. “Hullo, Anathema,” he greeted kindly. “Brilliant of you to check up on me. How’s Newton?”

_“Newton’s fine,” _Anathema answered. _“That’s not why I called. Um. The day before yesterday, Crowley and Aziraphale got, uh. Well. They were abducted. I have the kids with me, but they’re in rough shape. Raph caught a fever, and we’re doing our best to keep it down, but Agnes thinks he’s going crazy.”_

Adam blinked dumbly, trying to process any of that. “Hold on, say that again?”

_“Crowley and Aziraphale were abducted,” _Anathema repeated in a rush. _“Supposedly, Crowley was injured. The kids are safe, but their parents are gone.”_

Adam stammered for more than a few moments, flailing about, fishing for words, for a reaction, for _something. _His disgruntled-angry-upset-afraid face must’ve been quite worrying.

“What’s happened, love?” Warlock asked quietly.

“Um,” Adam stuttered. “Uh. Just a moment, Anathema. Ah, so you know how I told you about that weird thing when I was eleven?”

“Yeah, I remember,” his boyfriend confirmed, leaning so far forward, Adam was afraid he might slip off the desk. “With the— thing about your birth dad?”

“That’s the one,” Adam mumbled. “So my godparents, I mentioned them. Anthony Crowley and Ezra Fell, they… Oh, bloody Hell. They were on opposing sides, and they broke out of that, and they just got _taken.” _Adam cleared his throat. “Anathema, do we know who did it? One side or both sides or a tit for tat situation or…?”

_“Agnes wrote about Heaven _and _Hell in this book,” _the witch explained. _“But she— Oh. Um. Raph said a prophecy foretold the abduction. The Messenger will deliver a message once more, riding amongst a flame of light to return, and four will walk but five will leave. We know what that means, at least.”_

Adam was hesitant to ask, but… “What _does _it mean, Anathema?”

A pause of silence over the line. _“The Archangel Gabriel took them back to Heaven,” _she explained grimly, _“and Raphael, Lucy, Sam, and Jay left the house, but Crowley and Aziraphale Created another child just before they were taken. Four did walk, but five children left the house that day.”_

It was a long while before Adam could think to respond, and longer still before he was actually able to say it.

“Anathema,” he began, feeling too old and too powerless, “tell the kids to not to worry. I’ll be on the first flight home to Oxfordshire.”

~*~

Terror could not begin to explain this feeling.

This feeling was… _massacre. _Was _decimation, _was _carnage, _was _total annihilation._

To relive this _pain, _this _misery, _this _torture, _with nothing to show for it. Every five minutes, Crowley relived it like clockwork: stop the Bentley, run into the bookshop aflame, and learn what’s happened, learn that it’s _his bloody fault._

There was a paradoxical moment of eager excitement and sorrowful wretchedness every time Crowley found himself back in the Bentley. Where he’d blinking his burning eyes full of salty tears closed and open them to the road ahead, a familiar street in Soho, London, where he’d just be coming from his Mayfair flat, had just done in with Hastur and Ligur and was just _too _excited about the prospect of being able to see his angel. Where he’d simultaneously just been very hot, and very grief-ridden, and very soaked to the bone because the bookshop had been _burning _and—

He turned the corner. The bookshop was _burning. _Aziraphale had to still be inside.

And so, Crowley relived it all _again _and _again _and _again, _always seeking for that moment of black, the sound of his Bentley moving like liquid around corners and…

_Hold on._

There’d not been a split second of black _before… _had there?

Was Crowley’s mind blowing a fuse? What _was _that?

Oh, well. No time. _He had to save Aziraphale._

He blinked tears out of his eyes. Silence rang like a bell through his ears, and blackness reigned and then—

“Alright!” He slammed his foot on the brake, aimed a fist at his tape deck, and swung. The Bentley took the hint. Mozart’s _You Are My Best Friend _spurred on no longer, and Crowley gasped large, audible breaths. “Enough! This is my brain, yeah? Bloody— _stop. _Everything, just _stop it.”_

Peaceful blackness swallowed him up. Then, in the distance: “Raphael! _NO!”_

He screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yell at me! I know this is like a single day after I posted the last chapter but uhhhhh. I'm gay and sick so. Have this! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. Allons-y!


	4. keep thy eyes open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them are summoned back to Tadfield.
> 
> Raphael's fever worsens.
> 
> War Council is had.
> 
> Sam finds his voice.
> 
> What happened to all the agents of Earth after Crowley and Aziraphale betrayed their respective offices?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of fever/fever hallucinations, mentions of Heaven's punishments, scene where One Of The Children turns into an itty bitty snake.

Wensleydale and Brian happened to be in the same place when they each got a call. That is to say, a lunch date.

Brian’s phone began to go off first, chiming with the customized tone he used for Adam. He frowned down at his phone, willing it to shut up and leave him and Wensley alone, but Wensley’s phone _also _decided to ring, then. His caller ID read _Anathema._

“Guess we’ve got to take it, I s’pose,” Brian sighed, picking up his phone as Wensleydale picked up his own. “Yes, Adam?”

_“Right, so.” _The ex-Antichrist sounded antsy, frantic. More than a bit panicked. _“I’m home in Tadfield, now, because I got a call from Anathema about, ah, Crowley and Aziraphale.”_

“What’s happened, Anathema?” Wensleydale asked across the table.

“Yeah?” Brian said, willing his mate to continue. After a moment of near-silence and palpable tension, he said, firmer this time, “Adam, what is it?”

_“Well, um…” _Adam made a squeaking noise, as though someone had jabbed him in the ribs. Brian was quite familiar with the noise; Pepper had jabbed _all _of them in the ribs enough times to be able to recognize the sound. _“Okay! Crowley and Aziraphale were abducted by Heaven.”_

“What?!” Brian snapped, gripping mug of tea.

At the same time, Wensley’s expression turned some semblance of horrified. “No,” he breathed, his free hand coming to cover his mouth. “That can’t be true. Anathema, what of their children?”

_“I know, I know,” _Adam hissed through his teeth. He sounded on the verge of tears, or maybe already _past _that, like he was still crying. _“Anathema’s talking to Wensleydale right now about it, but it happened about… three days ago now.”_

“I _know _Wensley’s talking to Anathema,” Brian bit out, his knuckles going white on his mug. “He and I were having lunch together. How do we know it’s Heaven? How did we _absolutely _rule out Hell?”

_“The kids say it was a pillar of light,” _Adam explained. _“The prophecy book confirms it, even then. Agnes foretold that is was Gabriel, and Raph said he heard someone say, er, be not afraid. That’s sort of Gabriel’s thing in the Bible, innit?”_

Brian was loathe to admit it, but Adam was right.

“I’ll be back in Tadfield as soon as I can possibly manage,” Wensley said. He looked shaken to his core, eyes gone pinpricked and hair a mess. “Brian, we need to go back to Tadfield.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face as he really took in the information. “We do.”

~*~

Pepper may or may not have been in the middle of a meeting, but it wasn’t often that Wensleydale called someone. So rare was it, in fact, that all of the Them (save for Brian, though he didn’t know it yet, really) could count the number Wensley had called them on both hands.

“Wensleydale?” Pepper asked in the hall of a Very Important Government Building. “What is it? Are you quite alright?”

_“Crowley and Aziraphale were taken by Heaven,” _Wensley blurted. _“We don’t know where they currently are. All the kids are fine, but Crowley was injured. Anathema and Newton have them all right now.”_

Pepper fumbled, nearly dropping her phone. Her heart palpitated, as though it, too, wished to fly off to find wherever Crowley and Aziraphale were. Once the couple had moved into Tadfield, they’d become like godparents to Adam, Brian, and Wensley. Uncles, even, though there were no neutral terms they officially chose. To Pepper, they’d become sort of like step-parents in their own right. Pepper had never really known her father. She didn’t, by her mum’s standards, _have _a father. He’d done nothing to provide for their family other than assist in the creation of the children, and Pepper didn’t really mind it. Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t really fit into any gender category, being that Aziraphale identified mostly male but ultimately had _no _gender and Crowley identified with any and all gender identities he could get his hands on and classified as _all._

But they’d been kind of like fathers to her.

“I’m sorry, _what?” _she snapped, ignoring the side-eyes she got from the older white male politicians passing by. She crossed one arm over her ribcage and fiddled with her pearl necklace with the other. Absently, she noted that Crowley had gifted it to her. “They what? Heaven did _what?”_

_“Don’t shoot the, er, messenger,” _Wensley said, seeming to attempt a backpedal halfway through. _“Actually, _do _shoot the Messenger, capital M. Gabriel’s the prime suspect. Agnes predicted it.”_

Pepper took a deep, calming breath in through her nose that lasted seven seconds and let out in five seconds through her mouth, and exercise she’d learned from her therapist. “Please tell me no one on Neighborhood Watch has been suspicious. RP Tyler was _agonizing, _but I bloody swear his grandson is _worse. _How are the kids doing?”

_“As well as they can be,” _the young man hummed across the line. _“But it was very traumatizing for all of them. Crowley Created a daughter right before it happened, and Raphael contracted a fever, but he hasn’t let the baby leave his sight.”_

Pepper felt her heart throb. “Oh, poor Raph, my God. Have you talked to him?”

_“No, Brian and I are on our way, actually,” _Wensleydale explained. _“But, er… Adam’s come back. He brought, um, his boyfriend with him. His boyfriend knows all about the situation. Supposedly, he went through a weird childhood and he communicated with demons before, or so we’ve been told.”_

“I… don’t even want to ask,” Pepper sighed. “Speaking of, my girlfriend’s been asking about meeting my mum for a while. Might as well bring my own date, if Adam’s so keen on showing off.”

Reese was something of an enigma, and she wrote poetry like Sappho, and she sometimes would remind Pepper of Anathema in the way she would say something off and turn out to have foretold some smallish event. She was dark-skinned, of Middle Eastern descent, and her was thick and curly and _marvelously _hard to brush through. Sometimes she’d wear a nose ring and sometimes she’d put in her snakebite piercings and Pepper _lived _for those days, because she’d _always _do something _different._

And Reese knew a little more about Crowley and Aziraphale than Pepper was careful not to let on.

_“That’s fine, I suppose,” _Wensleydale huffed. _“I’m just… worried about them.”_

Pepper could relate. She was having to pause often to take those deep, calming breaths because the situation was just so _surreal. _How could Crowley and Aziraphale _really _be taken? How were the kids coping? What would happen if their parents weren’t able to return? Was this _really _the end?

“I know, Wensley,” she said. A young woman Pepper recognized vaguely as someone on her side popped out, gesturing hurriedly for her to come back inside. “Listen, I have to go, but I’ll be on my way _as soon _as this is over. Send the kids my love. I’ll see you soon.”

~*~

_And ye angel shall brandish thy bottle o’ polish and say thus: ye eyes haveth the same hue, my dearest._

Raphael shook his head to clear it, but the old woman’s voice—the one he’d deemed _Agnes—_kept it up.

_As for ye daemon, he returneth to ye home and says thus: we shall renewe thy wedding vowes, angel._

“Wedding vows?” Dad asked over his shoulder, leaning over him. A shattered halo floated, suspended, over his long red locks. “Do you know when we got married, darling?”

Raph rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Wasss… 2007, in a garden,” he managed to slur.

“Crawley, _do _give the poor dear some space,” Pop chided. He was standing directly behind Jay’s chair as she dejectedly ate dinner. The chicken noodle soup did nothing to ease the burn in Raph’s throat. “He’s ill, dear.”

“I would _do _something about that,” Dad hissed back, “if I were _real.”_

_Ye childe shall develop the fever, and he shall burn. He will survive, but he will burn. Ye angel and daemon are trapped in two minds, not one._

“Trapped?” Pop repeated, voice pitching high. “Since when did we get _trapped.”_

“Oi, you didn’t know about _that, _did you?” Dad scoffed. He rested easily on the back of Raphael’s chair. “Anything _else _you wish to share, darling?”

_The halo of fire shall reignite. Do notte believe the Messenger or the General, childe. They lie._

“Halo of fire, eh?” He leaned far over the back of the chair, partially blocking Raph’s vision with great black wings. His suspended halo glowed too bright as it forcefully slotted back together. Dad’s eyes were alight with something… _off. _The crackling, protesting halo atop his head flickered with flame. “This a good look on me?”

“Crawley, now is _not _the time,” Pop warned sternly, voice airy and low.

“When _is _the time, Aziraphale?” Dad snapped back. “You know I can control it, don’t you?”

“I do, in fact, know, my dear.” Pop marched around the table, speaking all the way. “He’s _hurt _and _ill, _Crawley. Can’t you see? This boy has been through more than his mortal mind can comprehend, and he’s _breaking _and _you—”_

“What _about _me?!”

“Ssssshut _up,” _Raphael growled. “Shut up! Okay? Just _stop it!” _All the fight left him in one breath. He planted his face firmly into his hands. “Bloody… _quiet.”_

“Raphael,” Newton called gently.

Raph looked up at him. Dad and Pop were gone. All his siblings were… _frightened. _Newt stood just inside the dining room, hand clutching the doorframe. His face was pinched, lips turned down at the corners.

“He’s all but finished, Newton,” Adam reported somewhere behind Raphael. He was likely in the archway to the living room. “If you bring a fresh ice pack, I’ll get him laid down on the sofa bed.”

Raphael twisted in his chair to look at his cousin, eyesight going unfocused as bitter, unwanted tears gathered in his eyes. “Adam, I was just telling them to be quiet. They were _arguing, _it was hurting my head.”

Adam, leaned elegantly against the archway with his arms crossed, pushed himself off the wall to come kneeling by Raphael’s chair. “Who were you telling to be quiet, Raph? None of your siblings were talking, let alone arguing.”

Raphael turned away in shame. “They followed me back from the Garden,” he whined, feeling ridiculed. “And I keep hearing the prophecies, and so do they, and they just won’t s-ss-_stop.”_

“What garden, Raphael?” Adam pressed.

“Eden, I presume.” Anathema appeared where Adam had been standing in the archway. She’d just been feeding The Baby, if the soft washcloth over her shoulder and the softer look around her eyes were any indication. “Your parents, right? You asked about them when you first woke up yesterday, and if you had a dream about the Garden of Eden, it would make perfect sense. Go ahead and help him to the couch bed, Adam.”

Adam stood, reaching out to grasp Raphael’s hand. He pulled the teen onto his feet, but Raphael’s vision blacked out. Adam managed to catch him before he hit the ground, bending to pick him up fully. Raphael looked too small in the ex-Antichrist’s arms, too meek with his face turned away from the world and one hand gripping Adam’s shirt. It hurt to see.

Adam settled Raphael into the clean sheets of the sofa bed, adjusting the pillow to support the kid’s head. Newton came in with two ice packs and a clean washcloth. Adam placed one on Raph’s chest, just beneath his breastbone, and put the washcloth over Raphael’s eyes before he set the second ice pack on top of it.

“Why must you be so hard on the boy, Crawley?” he heard Pop say distantly, as though his voice was getting farther and farther.

“He’s too much like me, angel,” Dad answered, equidistance to Pop. “I just don’t want to see him Fall.”

~*~

Wensleydale and Brian arrived sometime in the afternoon. Pepper and her girlfriend Reese made it later in the night.

Reese was all caught up. She wasn’t any kind of liability; quite the opposite, in fact. She’d already put together some semblance of knowledge. She was well-versed in religion, and well-versed in prophecy, and _very _well-versed in understanding what kind of beings Crowley and Aziraphale were. Pepper knew very little about Reese before she happened into Pepper’s life but, from what she _did _know, her upbringing was something of a cinched collar, much like how Aziraphale described Heaven as.

“That’s her, innit?” Brian asked when Pepper and her partner stepped into the room. He stood from the dining table, stretching out his right hand toward the stranger. “Pleasure to meet you, Reese. I’m Brian. I’d say I’ve heard much about you, but that would be a lie.”

“Of course,” Reese answered, laughing lightly. “Pepper doesn’t like to share. I’m fine with that.”

The boys went around the table introducing themselves; Adam broadly, Wensley shyly, and Warlock without much effort. Adam did it _for _him, really. He gave a polite little wave anyway.

“Right then.” Pepper pulled a seat out for Reese and then sat down in a chair beside. “Shall we get started? Where are Newt and Anathema?”

“Right here,” Anathema responded. She was carrying _The Unburnte Prophecies _close to her chest. Newton came in behind her, carrying a short stack of blank printer paper and a few maps of England. He set those down in the table’s center and fished into his pockets to produce a bundle of pens. “Shall we begin?”

They called it War Council.

Being that the meeting was held later in the night, whereas _actual _war councils started much earlier in the morning so they could run longer, and also that War was not present and neither was any war to speak of, it wasn’t and _actual war council. _It was named this way by Adam, however, with the reasoning that yes, it _was _a council and that war had been declared on their group by Heaven. Adam did not say _group, _in particular, but it’s safe to say _group _was a loose word for the lot of them. Rather, he used the word _family, _which rekindled a weary spirit one room over where Raphael was decidedly _not _asleep, and lit a sort of connection between the council themselves.

Several possible routes were discussed. In the end, no conclusion came. No sure-fire way to figure out what in the world would happen even with a book of prophecies before them and two outside opinions. No end in sight, no _possible way _things could turn out right side up.

Anathema and Adam were arguing over the table. It was beginning to annoy Raphael. The Baby was stirring beside his sofa bed. It wasn’t looking good, judging by the way she was starting to squirm.

_“And the witch and the Hell-spawn shall dispute,” _he called out, turning onto his side, _“and ye serpent childe shall reveal unreste.”_

The argument stopped. A chair scraped the ground. Adam appeared in the doorway, backlit by the dining room light. “I thought you went to sleep,” he said.

“Obviously not,” Raph scoffed, blinking eyes marred by dilated pupils at his cousin. “In _my _opinion, since you were _so kind to ask, _I think you all should bloody shut up.”

Adam frowned. “Raphael, you need to sleep.”

“No,” Raph replied simply.

“No?” Adam surged forward, standing by the end of the sofa bed, looming. “What do you mean, _no?”_

The Baby let out a mighty wail. Adam startled, face going from turmoiled to bewildered in a split second.

“She’s going to need a change, isn’t she?” Raph sat up, scooching to the edge of the bed to reach into the bassinet. The Baby was, indeed, fussy over her used nappy. The quiet hushing Raphael cooed at her sounding more hissy than his intention. “It’s alright. You just need a new nappy, don’t you?”

He summoned all the supplies. His chest ached with fire. He set The Baby down on her changing mat and got to work, cooing at her with all the energy he could muster. When Raphael picked her back up, she was still fussy. He could safely say he felt the same way.

“Raph, honey, you didn’t need to do that,” Anathema chided him. She stood beside Adam now at the foot of the bed. “I would’ve taken care of her.”

She was giving him a pity look. He’d gotten too used to that the past four days.

The Baby hiccupped and launched into another shrieking fit. Raphael hitched her up, closer to his chest, and swayed from side to side, feeling too tired. He wanted his papa. He wanted his daddy. He had no doubt The Baby felt the same way.

_“I could dim the lights and sing you songs full of sad things,” _he hummed sweetly, blinking sluggishly. _“We could do the tango just for two. I could serenade and gently play on your heartstrings. Be a Valentino just for you. Ooh, love. Ooh, lover boy. What’cha doin’ tonight, hey boy. Set my alarm, turn on my charm, that’s because I’m a—” _He yawned wide, and Anathema seized forward to scoop The Baby up and settle her in her bassinet. She was no longer crying. _“—good old fashioned… lover boy…”_

Raphael fell asleep, and a plan formed in Adam’s mind.

~*~

Some fourteen years ago, following the aftermath of the Armageddon that didn’t happen, Crowley and Aziraphale became celebrities in Heaven and Hell for what they’d managed to do.

See, Above was a highly organized bureaucracy that acted, toward its smaller workers or less-active workers, as a sort of cinched collar. Below was a very unorganized monarchy that had no _particular _standing opinion on less-active workers or low-ranked demons, but the pressure was more put down via the dukes and Prince of Hell. What this means is that there were many an angel and demon struggling in their respective companies.

The Principality Kabrïs happened to be one of the struggling agents of Heaven. Principalities were lords of the Earth; they were meant to learn about humans, protect them, save their knowledge. If any were to ask, the most well-known principality on Earth was Aziraphale. When humans thought _angel, _there were typically two particular images they thought up, one of which happened to be pale blue eyes, fair skin, blond hair, and an aged face but an ageless kind smile. Kabrïs knew _of _Aziraphale. She’d never met him personally.

Kabrïs was known, in Heaven, as the Angel of Prophetic Visions and Poetry. When people thought of Lord’s Messenger, they tended toward the Archangel Gabriel, but that was not much the case. God _did _send Her messages to Gabriel, but Gabriel was busy. Any and all messages Gabriel had to send went through Kabrïs, who sent the messages in a dream. Prophetic visions, indeed.

For the past fourteen years, or since the Armageddon that hadn’t happened, or since Crowley and Aziraphale dodged out of their respective offices’ punishments, Kabrïs has worked in hiding under a more earthly name in fear of Heaven catching her and bringing her back in to retrain her or punish her. She’s been a poet and a prophet, and she’s been a principality and a lover. Her most well-worn suit has been of love, and she chose very, _very _wisely.

Or, well, didn’t _choose. _It was more like Kabrïs had _been _chosen. Or as though she’d been struck in the heart one late summer day some two years ago, and she’d never been the same.

Reese Khan sat in the dining room of Jasmine Cottage beside her girlfriend, and wondered.

“Breakfast was lovely, Newton, thank you,” Pepper said beside her. Reese had tasted the orange juice on her lips not long ago; sleep and food were _both _unnecessary, but it was nice to take part in it when it was so _nice._

“It was no problem, Pepper,” Newt answered.

The children had came, and eaten, and left again. The twins and Jay were in the backyard at the moment with Anathema, who was also watching The Baby. Raphael was practically comatose on the sofa bed. It was generally dreary around the children. Reese could sense how much power they all had, even _alone, _but they’d barely scratched the surface.

“So Heaven has them,” Reese started, placing her chin in her palm.

“You’re calmer about this whole situation than Warlock was,” Adam noticed, face blank. He had dark bags beneath his bright eyes, and Reese would be correct in assuming that he hadn’t gotten much sleep the past few days.

“I was religious _before _Pepper confirmed that for me,” she answered. “But they’d be in Heaven, yeah? The Messenger and the General are Gabriel and Michael, respectively. Do we know what rank of angel Aziraphale was?”

“Principality,” Wensleydale chimed in when nobody answered. “It was a story he told to the twins one day, and I’d been there to hear it. He was a cherub in Eden, demoted to principality when Crowley got in and invented the Original Sin.”

“And what company would he have been in?” Reese continued.

The other young adults at the table stared. The backdoor slammed, hard.

Sam was stomping in, wiping his eyes furiously. He was whimpering every few moments, scrubbing at his face. He broke down and dropped to seat himself at the archway between the dining room and the common room.

“Sam, what’s happened?” Brian asked, standing from his spot to go meet the child on the ground.

Sam raised his hands, made a gesture, but it wasn’t comprehensible. Reese caught his golden eye over Brian’s shoulder. The eleven-year-old made an unmistakable sign.

_Angel, _he signed. His hands only shook minimally, eyes wide as he watched Reese with rapt attention. His throat constricted as he swallowed, hard, and then he made a flurry of words.

Reese raised her chin a little, just the slightest jutting motion, and Sam let out a squeak, and then suddenly Sam was _not _sitting in the archway. In his place, lying on the ground in a small, panicked pile of scales was a rosy boa.

He was no bigger than Brian could fit in his palm, and everyone was left in shocked silence.

“Pepper, Adam, you both owe me twenty pounds,” Wensley said finally, sounding breathy.

“That’s immoral,” protested an itty bitty voice that came, strangely enough, from the tiny snake wrapped around Brian’s hand.

A shockwave of silence pulsed through the room.

“You can _talk?!” _Adam hollered.

“No!” snake-Sam hollered back. “I can’t! I— _What?!”_

_“That’s _what you’re worried about?” Warlock called. “He just turned into a _snake, _Adam!”

“Keep it down,” Wensley said. “Raphael is still sleeping.”

The noise of the adults crying out drowned him out. It was all for naught, however, when the boy’s voice interrupted.

“Quiet, _please!” _Sam yelled. A hush fell over the room. He wrapped himself between Brian’s pinky and ring finger. “I didn’t… I didn’t _know _I could do _either _of these things. I just want my parents back.”

The backdoor slammed again. Clunking footsteps indicated Lucy was coming back inside, as Jay hadn’t been wearing shoes when she left the house. Her voice could be heard before she even hit the dining room.

“Sam, I’m sorry!” she cried. “I didn’t mean it, I promise! I’m just angry and I—” She drew to a halt in the dining room, eyes locked on Reese. She forcefully removed her eyes from Pepper’s partner, looking around the room. “Do any of you know where Sam is?”

“I’m right here,” Sam answered, quiet and peering out between Brian’s fingers

Lucy’s eyes locked onto the tiny rosy boa Brian was, indeed, cradling close to his chest. “Sammy?”

“I did like Dad,” he remarked. “And then I went to sign something and I was speaking, but I think it won’t stay when I’m… me again.”

Lucy nodded in understanding. Her short blonde curls dropped into her face. She pushed them back with a huff of annoyance and marched up to Brian. When she held her hands up, there wasn’t much of a wait. Sam crawled off Brian’s hand and twined his way around Lucy’s. His lower half anchored around her wrist, his higher portion safely tucked around her thumb and forefinger. His pink tongue flicked out and Lucy stuck her own tongue out at him.

“Pepper,” Lucy said suddenly, as though something was just hitting her. Pepper acknowledged her with a lift of her chin. “Why are you dating an angel?”

Pepper blinked for a long moment. “I’m sorry?”

Reese shook her head. “No, she’s alright. You’re name is Lucy, correct?”

Lucy nodded, holding her brother aloft. Sam flicked his serpentine tongue at her.

“When the Principality Aziraphale betrayed Heaven,” she explained, “a lot of the _other _principalities went into hiding, myself being one of them. Being that we all were agents on Earth, it was highly likely that Heaven would punish _us, _too, and they did. At least, the principalities they could _find. _They couldn’t find me because I’d started going fully by my earthly name.”

“You could’ve said something sooner!” Pepper crossed her arms. “I would’ve helped you, love.”

“I had it covered,” Reese replied. She turned her attention back on the twins. “Now, what do you both know about Aziraphale’s rank and company?”

“Principality Aziraphale of Gabriel’s Third Choir,” Sam hissed, writhing back and again around Lucy’s hand. “I don’t recall what before that…”

“Before that,” called a voice in the archway, “he was the Cherub Aziraphale of Raphael’s Second Choir. Now, is Sam really a talking snake right now, or am I having a fever-induced hallucination?”

“He’s a talking snake,” Adam confirmed. “Raph, lay back down, you’re still not well.”

“Not tired,” the teen bit out, taking the seat Warlock offered him. “Thank you. Oi, hold on.”

“What?” Warlock said.

“What’s your name?” Raphael asked, staring up at the young man standing at the back of his chair.

“Warlock Dowling,” he answered.

“Ah, that’s where I knew you,” Raph said sagely. “You were the Wrong Antichrist. Dad and Pop have mentioned you. I trust you.”

“The _Wrong Antichrist?” _Wensley asked. He looked from Warlock to Adam to Raph. “What’s _that_ mean?!”

“Oh, I think he needs to lay back down,” Brian sighed, shaking his head.

“No, Raph’s right,” Lucy protested. “Daddy was a nanny for a while and Papa was the gardener for the same household. There was only supposed to be the politician’s wife when Daddy delivered the Antichrist, remember? But Adam’s mum showed up.”

Everyone let that sink in.

“That’s… highly unsettling,” Warlock said with a shudder. “That might’ve been why that crazy guy showed up at one of my parents’ political trips when I turned eleven. He smelled positively _rotten.”_

“Back to the problem at hand.” Raphael’s eyes were hazy and unfocused, but his voice was strong. “Dad and Pop were taken by Heaven. Specifically, Gabriel and Michael, two mad-powerful archangels who I’d rather not have to go up against. Pepper’s girlfriend is an angel who could help us get into Heaven, but we also don’t know for certain whether or not they’re keeping Dad and Pop in Heaven, especially with what Agnes has said in her prophecies.”

“What’s Agnes gone and said _now?” _Pepper huffed.

Raphael glanced briefly skyward, then trained his eyes on the twins. _“The angel and demon are not where ye think they will be. Look again, for they will be where they’ve always been.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the read! I'm really dumbby but this is getting done quicker than originally perceived!! go yell at me tumblr, @kkid-nothingg, kudos are appreciated and comments are SO good.


	5. dreams vs nightmares (ii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone in Tadfield remembers...
> 
> ...and someone in Mayfair forgets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of negligent parenting, and amnesia.

Jay was far too curious for someone who looked so unassuming.

Even at five years old, she was showing the signs. Everything Crowley or Aziraphale stated, a simple fact of nature, what they’d have for dinner, the reason Brian was so tall, the reason Crowley’s hair was so long, the reason Aziraphale’s hair didn’t grow. Every plain statement would be followed up by a simple word: “Why?”

It got to the point where Crowley would hoard the twins and Raph and subconsciously avoid their youngest. He hadn’t even realized; he’d only been made aware by Aziraphale one summer afternoon where Crowley was outside with the three in the backyard garden and Jay was left reading alone in the living room.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale called out the sliding glass doors.

“Yes, angel?” Crowley replied, pushing his floppy gardening hat out of his uncovered eyes so he could look his husband in the face.

There Aziraphale stood on the back patio, hand on the shoulder of the innocent youngling who was ogling the fruits and veggies of the backyard garden as though it was the first time she was really seeing it all. She had a novel in her arms, pressed close against her chest. It was a collection of short stories that all ended in cliff-hangers, Crowley recalled. It was the only thing she’d really wanted for Christmas.

“I’m going to run into town to the grocer’s,” Aziraphale explained. “I’d like Jay to stay close to you, my dear.”

“’Course, angel,” Crowley promised faintly. He waved the five-year-old over, beckoned her out, barefoot, into the back garden. “C’mon, love, I don’t bite.”

Jay scrambled across the grass, white-gold hair glowing faintly beneath dappled sunlight. Her eyes were wide and curious as she looked all around, at the mini orchard, at the patch of sunlight which Crowley stood in, watering the fruits and veggies and giving them all a stink-eye. She stopped just beside him, keeping pace with him silently as he walked the whole garden. Distantly, he could hear Raphael telling outrageous stories about Adam and the Them and making Lucy and Sam giggle a little.

“Oi, you,” Crowley hissed, crouching beside a strawberry plant with rotting fruits. “You _know _better, don’t you? Just because I go easy on you lot when the kids are all out doesn’t mean you get to _slack off! _You’d better be standing straight by the time I come to water you tomorrow.”

He stood back up, groaning as his spine crackled. He continued forward, bringing his watering can across, and Jay caught up with him, like she’d been waiting behind him.

“Why do you yell at all your plants?” she asked, voice quiet and shy, as though a bit fearful to speak up.

Crowley glanced down at her and paused to properly water a patch of dried veggies. “They grow better when they’re afraid of what’ll happen if they don’t.”

“How do you _know _that, though?” Jay asked frustratedly, little knuckles turning white on the edges of her book.

“I’ve been caring for plants for a long time,” he answered. “Read in a magazine once that they’d grow better if you spoke to them, and my experience tells me that they grow better this way. Trust me, love, I’ve watched your papa care for plants. His angelic presence only does so much. Now, enough with the questions for a bit, I need to get this patch fresh and ripe by the time fall rolls in.”

They continued on through the garden, Crowley occasionally hissing threats at the plants.

“Why don’t you like me?”

He stepped dead in his tracks and turned to look at the five-year-old. She looked confounded and befuddled, more than a little close to tears. Her bottom lip wobbled, but it looked more like she was angry at herself for beginning to cry than anything. Crowley closed his dropped jaw, carefully settling onto one knee before his youngest child, and inspected her.

“Why do you think I don’t like you?” he asked.

Jay blinked, turning just her eyes skyward. The tears pooled faster and faster. She hiccupped and said, “You never play with me, and you only spend time with me when Papa asks you to.”

Crowley’s heart shattered. He looked back at the past five years, trying to figure out where it all went wrong, because he _surely _must’ve played with the little girl or _something, _but—

She’d started forming words, _real _words other than _mama _and _dada, _when she was three, and her favorite word was _why. _Crowley had edged out of her life the moment his discomfort set in. A subconscious reminder of why he’d lost his grace and holiness, why he’d been kicked out of Heaven.

“Oh, love, I’m so sorry,” he sighed, scooping her close into his arms, book and all. Jay broke into body-wracking sobs, pressing her face into his shoulder. “I never meant to make you feel like that, Jay. Unloved or unwanted. I wouldn’t wish that fate on my worst enemies, do you understand? I’m sorry.”

They sat there in the grass for a few minutes, Crowley swaying back and forth to calm the five-year-old. When she quieted, he pulled back a bit.

“I’m finished out here, alright?” he said quietly. “How’s about we go inside and make lunch for your brothers and sister, hm?”

“Yeah,” Jay hummed, rubbing her eyes.

Crowley picked her up to sit on his hip. “Kids, stay out here,” he called. “Your sister and I are just going to pop inside to make lunch.”

A pair of agreements met him, and he turned tail and made his way back inside the cottage. Jay sniffled and shuddered on his hip, still clutching tight to her cliffhanger book. Crowley set her on the counter, studying her carefully. She avoided his gaze. Crowley surged into her space to peck a kiss beside her eye, right where a beauty mark had made its home at the outside corner of her eyelids.

“What do you feel like for lunch?” he asked, shifting form foot to foot. “Anything you’d like, love.”

Jay twisted her lips as she considered. _Anything, _after all, was a rather large selection. It’d surely be quite tricky to pick just one thing. But then again… “Can we have fish and chips?” she requested quietly.

Crowley smiled. “Of course! Any place in particular you’d like to get them, or would you rather we make them at home?”

An option. Easier, she supposed. “Uhm. Can we go to that small fish and chips shop near the ice cream shop?” she said.

“We absolutely can, love.” Crowley picked her up onto his hip again. “Let’s go get Raphie and the twins, eh?”

Within the next five minutes, the elder three kids were inside, cleaning off a bit and getting proper socks and shoes on for the lunch out. Crowley paid particular attention to Jay, making the excuse that she _did _need his attention, that she was the youngest and still going through some major developments. He tricked his mind into overlooking any and every discomfort of his past—he didn’t matter right now. Hell was behind him and Heaven was long, _long _behind him. God be damned for making his daughter’s questions cause him to look at her in any other light than a positive one.

“How are we going to get to the shop?” Jay piped up when they stepped outside.

Lucy attempted to make an explanation, but she didn’t quite make it. Sam made an aborted attempt to tell. Raphael only smiled mischievously.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the garage door opened, revealing a vintage black Bentley. He gestured to it and it snapped on. “Raphael, Lucy, Sam, you’ve got backseat. Jay will sit with me up front.”

Nobody complained about that. When everyone had loaded into the Bentley, Crowley turned the tape player on and drove—safely, as not to harm any of his children—out of the driveway and onto the street. The ride to the fish and chips shop would be some five or so minutes, if he kept this steady driving pace up.

_Bohemian Rhapsody _began playing from the tape deck. Raphael sang loudly behind Crowley’s head. Jay smiled and giggled, kicking her feet in the passenger’s seat. Her book sat patiently in her lap, the title well worn in with incessant tracing of the letters.

Crowley pulled the Bentley to the curb of the fish and chips shop and helped all the kids out of the car. Soon enough, they were all seated at an outside table and waiting on five orders of fish and chips. Jay flipped open her book in her wait, finger scrolling slowly across the words. She was halfway through the novel, and seemed to greatly enjoy it judging by her reactions. Crowley watched her contentedly as she hummed and gasped accordingly. She was a bit like Aziraphale in that sense, her sheer innocent happiness with certain books.

The fish and chips were delivered by a chipper young person who wished them a nice lunch and high fived the twins. Crowley would make sure to leave a ludicrous tip to help them tie up their electricity this month.

“Lucy, have you got a napkin?” he called as he eyed the elder twin.

Lucy gleaned a peek beneath her eyelashes, trying to look unassuming. “I don’t need one for my lap anymore, Daddy.”

“Nothing to be ashamed of, poppet,” he assured her. “I still have to use one myself. Go ahead and put yours down, alright?”

Lucy huffed but did as she was told. Crowley followed suit, carefully placing his down on his lap. Raphael dug into his meal with a fervor he’d surely picked up from Crowley himself. Sam picked up his chips and chewed delicately, mouth closed, savoring every last bite. Lucy ate more like a small heathen than either Crowley or Aziraphale, but it’d more than likely develop into Crowley’s scarfing style of eating.

Jay, he observed, ate like a five-year-old. That is to say, she ate semi-messily, chomping on bites of fried fish intermixed with stuffing whole chips into her mouth, punctuated by prim sips of pink lemonade. Halfway through her meal, closer to the end of Crowley’s, he paused her to bring a napkin to her mouth. She startled, eyebrows jumping up. Crowley smiled, soft and all lips, down at her, ruffling her hair when he was finished.

A few hours later, after they’d finished lunch and then dinner and all the kids had showered and gotten tucked into bed, Aziraphale and Crowley talked in the study.

“You learned something, I hope?” the angel asked, words polished and edged with a certain sharpness.

Crowley ducked his head ashamedly. “I hadn’t even realized I’d been doing it, angel, I swear. I’m going to make up for it. From here on out,” he promised, “I’ll do _anything _to keep that little girl happy in hopes that maybe, _maybe, _she’ll forgive me one day.”

“I pray you’re willing to hold to that promise,” Aziraphale commented, cupping his spouse’s cheek to give him a kiss.

Right on cue, little padding footsteps made their way ever closer, the soft dragging of a blanket following. Jay peeked into the study with wide, semi-panicked eyes and soft lips turned down. Her mouth opened in a silent gasp upon seeing both her parents in the study instead of just one, and she quickly averted her eyes.

“Sorry,” she whispered, already turning around. “I’ll go back…”

Crowley caught her around the waist and reeled her back into the study. She was wearing navy blue footie pajamas with a pattern of stars and planets on them and she was gripping her cream-colored blankie like a lifeline. Her eyes were puffy and bloodshot, like she’d spent the past hour and a half of being laid down either crying, not sleeping, or having a nightmare. Crowley hugged her tight from behind, sitting upright on his knees.

“What’s the matter, hm?” he asked quietly, swaying calmly. Always swaying, really. Like a hypnotized snake.

“Nothing, Daddy, I…” She refused to look at either Crowley or Aziraphale, gazing into the middle distance somewhere to her lower right instead. “Just let me go, I’ll go back to bed.”

Aziraphale carefully knelt in front of the five-year-old, being mindful of his right leg. “Another nightmare, my dear?”

_A nightmare. _Crowley squeezed the girl a bit tighter, settling his chin on her shoulder. She wrung her blankie like Aziraphale tended to do with his hands when he was nervous. Too much anxious energy, Crowley observed. She was more rocking than swaying with him, forward then back from toes to heels.

“Come along, then,” Aziraphale prompted, gesturing toward the small loveseat in the study that Crowley often draped himself across. “Shall we read a story, my dear?”

“She’s not going to be able to sit through that, angel,” Crowley argued softly, making sure his grip on Jay was a bit better so he could overpower her rocking with his swaying. “I might know how to remedy that, though.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. He was stood straight now, dressed down to his pale blue button-up and his grey housecoat. His nifty little glasses were held aloft in one hand, as though he’d been making to put them on.

“What’s that, love?” he asked.

Crowley smiled into Jay’s shoulder. “Jay, love, would you like to go up to the roof and look at the stars with me?”

And so, a tradition was started. Jay, the insomniac and avid nightmare-haver would beg Crowley to go up to their little spot on the roof to learn about a new constellation or a certain planet or nebula. Eventually, Crowley set up a sheltered little spot on the small plateau of the roof, a soft blanket that never got wet from rainstorms which was in absolutely no part thanks to the wide-brimmed umbrella standing proud near the back of it, guarding the two pillows and the picnic basket that would often be found up there. A telescope joined the setup at one point, and it became a fixed spot for Jay to escape to night or day, most often with Crowley at night when the terrors wouldn’t leave her.

One night, when Jay was seven and laying on Crowley’s shoulder and chest, half asleep but barely managing to fight it off, she said, “What was it like in Heaven, Daddy? Before you left, I mean.”

Crowley could fault her not for curiosity, so he answered honestly: “I remember it being luscious with a green garden and bright with the love and grace of God. The ceiling was open into space so myself and the helpers I chose could come and go freely and create the stars.”

“So you were a starmaker?” Jay said through a yawn.

“Not just _a _starmaker, love,” Crowley countered. “I was _the _Starmaker.”

There was a pause long enough that Crowley believed the girl had finally given in to sleep.

Then, “Does that mean I’m a Starmaker, too?”

Crowley smiled, turning his head left to kiss the crown of Jay’s soft blonde head. “It absolutely _does, _starburst. Get some rest. I’ll carry you inside before sunrise.”

So she turned over, and she slept.

~*~

It was integral, this bit. Crowley knew it like the back of his hand. He’d been watching this moment, and this moment _alone, _for near centuries.

“Why don’t you like me?” Jay asked, fighting her tears.

_I love you, _Crowley was going to say. _I love you so much, my little starburst. Don’t you ever doubt that I’d do anything to keep you happy. I love you._

It was on the tip of his tongue. He was opening his mouth, and his mouth would form those words this time. He’d tell her, and then things would be set alight in his memory paths because he’d finally unlocked it, he’d found they key, he’d _get out, _and he’d be able to hold his babies in his arms, and—

“You,” Crowley sneered, voice dripping venom, _far_ too much venom, “are chatty and loud and _annoying. _You’re always asking questions. Who likes a kid who asks a fat lot of questions? Nobody, that’s who. Now, quiet. I’m _busy.”_

There was a shattering and a blackness which did nothing to balm his heart. Crowley _did not _want to say that. He _just _wanted to go home. He just wanted to _hold…_

Right. Where had his train of thought gone? _Kids. Something about kids._

Raphael, he thought, and Lucy, and Sam… and…

Aziraphale? Aziraphale wasn’t a kid. There was clearly something missing. There was _someone—_

No. He must’ve been thinking of something else. Crowley breathed a sigh as he was shoved into a memory, a too-vivid recollection of something he must not have paid very good attention to.

He tightened his grip on the wheel of the Bentley and willed himself to breathe. He had to go home. He had to see Aziraphale, Raphael, Lucy, and Sam. There was something wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me!!! Comments and kudos are much appreciated, I hope you enjoyed :). Fanatics and (a few) explanations are next on my list! Thank you for reading


	6. creation/destruction (or hell hath no fury)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's been happening in Hell since the abduction?
> 
> A look into Beelzebub's past, and a further inspection of the definition of family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: abandonment (I guess???), mentions of war and Falling capital F.

Beelzebub was the Prince of Hell.

This is already widely known. It’s highly important to state as much again for this simple fact: they were the third in command, after Lilith and Lucifer. They knew what the King and Queen knew, and the King and Queen knew much. A lot more than they let on to the lowly demons of Hell, in fact. This meant Beelzebub knew almost everything about everything.

This included Crowley, Aziraphale, and their growing family. They knew about Raphael, Lucy, Sam, Jay, and the fifth child mere moments after the King and Queen of Hell knew. And, given that Crowley had Created the fifth child like he’d done the second and third, it was safe to say all of Hell knew just after the royal family.

Which is to say, the following wave of pure holiness that hit after the fifth child’s Creation was felt like a shockwave through Hell. It plunged deep into Beelzebub’s chest like a holy spear and left them hunched over on their throne in Hell’s court of all places. Not a moment later, all the dukes of Hell were scrambling to escape the burn of grace.

“Court adjourned!” Beelzebub hollered through gritted teeth, doubled over as the demons piled out the court hall’s doors.

Dagon was covering her ears beside their throne, mouth open in a silent scream and eyes shuttered tight. Holiness affected all of them differently. It took Beelzebub’s metaphorical breath away. It gave Lord Dagon a migraine headache as through screeching church bells.

It took a solid while before it faded even a little bit. By then, Beelzebub had gone dizzy from pain and Dagon had sat propped up by their throne. They stared at each other with wide, unfocused eyes.

“The demon Crowley,” Dagon started, sounding desperate and breathless. “He Created again, he—”

“Yes,” Beelzebub agreed, “but something went wrong. Something’s happened.”

A pause. Silence festered like rot. Beelzebub’s stomach curled.

“I’m going above to check on them,” they told Dagon, rising clumsily from their throne. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

One had to have special permissions to get on the lift that would take one up to Earth. Beelzebub was lucky in that not only did they not have to ask permission to use this lift but they could also control where the lift dropped them. So, they chose a spot—the backyard, they guessed, would be a safe bet—and flipped a lever and the lift slowly but surely made its way upward. It’d be a long journey, but they eventually rose through the grass.

They stood for a few moments, facing a sliding glass door which was marked only by a dried red handprint. _Blood. _The lingering taste of holiness permeated the air in and around the house, but it was too potent for a principality to produce. It was roughly twice the amount of unholiness Satan would produce in his creature form, which would equate to…

“Archangels,” Beelzebub breathed. “Two archangels. Oh, Hell.”

“Hey!” called a young voice, coming ever nearer. “Hey! You!”

Beelzebub turned about face in shock, eyes catching that of an older child’s, just before they were summoned.

Summoning wasn’t something demons often did to each other. They didn’t do it _at all, _actually, and wouldn’t _dare _try it on the Prince of Hell except if they were Dagon. But Dagon wouldn’t have the energy to summon them, and not as quickly as _this, _so when Beelzebub reappeared standing before the King of Hell, they weren’t very surprised.

“My Lord,” they greeted with a bow as Satan snapped his fingers and the summoning circle vanished. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Satan looked… twitchy. “No need for honorifics, Beelzebub,” he hissed. “You know what happened on the surface.”

It wasn’t question. Regardless, Beelzebub answered: “Yes, I do.”

“What is it, then?” Satan paced to and fro before them, hands flapping about anxiously. “Has the principality been called back to Heaven? Did one of the children come into holy power? Did Crowley…?”

“No,” Beelzebub said. “None of the above, I’m afraid. But I sensed… angelic energy. It _lingered. _Two archangels forcefully took both the demon Crowley and his principality.”

“Crowley Created before they were taken.” Lilith appeared in the doorway to the King’s study, eyes dark and stormy. “Did you see any of the children, Beelzebub? Are they safe, the five of them?”

Beelzebub glanced about their king’s study, and their eyes caught on a small framed picture. There stood Satan and Lilith beside Crowley, whose hair was long and lustrous, and he stood beside his angel, and four children stood before them: the tallest of them with pale red hair and turquoise serpentine eyes, the closer pair with mismatched blue and golden eyes with the girl’s hair much shorter and the boy’s a bit longer, and the smallest a chubby blonde thing with mischievous light in her pale blue eyes.

“The eldest,” they said. “I saw the eldest. He was carrying the newborn.”

“What of Lucy, Sam, and Jay?” Lilith begged. “Did you not see them? Could you not _sense _them, Beelzebub?”

They stared at their despairing queen and their anxious king, feeling the pit in their stomach grow.

See, it’s been stated before that angels can feel love. It would be correct to say that the house was doused in it, and also correct to say that the two archangels who’d abducted Crowley and Aziraphale were hit with a wall of it upon entering. It was that love that had to be pierced for the archangels to get through at all, and if they ended up harming the demon in the process, it was just collateral damage. Demons don’t feel love so much as they can feel purity. The house had, indeed, been doused in both.

Demons can _also _sense other demons, however. And, while there hadn’t been a _demon, _per se, there _had _been a few particular energies in the general area that Beelzebub felt. There were the closest—the eldest of the bunch, Raphael, and the baby—and then three a bit farther away. Up the street, they might say, given they were saying it as a rough estimate.

“They’re all alive,” Beelzebub confirmed, sounding more confident than they felt at the moment. The rulers of Hell stared at them with very wide eyes. “All five of them are alive.”

~*~

The court held the following days was to a hall of unruly and angry demons.

They yelled and chattered over each other, sending everyone around them into further disarray and causing a general widespread upset. Beelzebub had long since been overpowered by the voices, and could do nothing but listen and sit and wait for the King and Queen of Hell to emerge and take court.

“There’s been a breach!” some shouted. “Heaven has disrupted an agent of Hell upstairs!”

“If they are not safe above, who’s to say we’re safe below?” others yelled grievously.

“What do we do?” the majority worried. “The opposition are calling for war. What do we do now?”

_“Enough!” _Lilith bellowed. She took a seat flanked on the main throne to the left. “Silence your squabbling. One at a time.”

Satan took his throne to the right. “First orders of business: any updates from the gatekeepers?”

Dagon unrolled a scroll and read, “They report that lesser demons are trying to escape and some are rioting. Calling for a war with the opposition.”

“There will be _no _war,” Lilith denied, sneering down at the masses. “And if any disagree, you’d be fighting it alone. There are more pressing matters at hand than fighting Heaven.” She looked to her husband. Satan took the floor.

“The Heavenly Host has taken something very dear,” he announced. “Very few know that the demon Crowley is my younger brother, not just my wife’s champion. Even fewer know how powerful Crowley truly is. Heaven has taken him and his angel. With Crowley’s power, they could ruin our defenses and get into Hell. Before we focus on fighting a war that does not need to be, we focus our efforts on keeping good defenses over Hell and getting Crowley and Aziraphale back. Is that understood?”

The court hall was silent for only a few moments before the dukes of Hell chorused _“Yes, my Lord,” _and _“Of course, my King.”_

“Right,” Lilith said. “Court adjourned. Get to work.”

The demons filed out, leaving behind the royal family and the Lord of the Files. Beelzebub dismissed Dagon with a respectful nod, and they turned to follow Lilith and Satan out of the court hall. Get to work, indeed.

~*~

It became apparent very, very quickly that the adults couldn’t keep sending Raphael to bed if they wanted to accomplish a plan that was even semi-workable.

Even Pepper, with all her extensive knowledge of international affairs, and Reese, with her ethereal wisdom of Heaven and the Earth, weren’t able to put something suitable together. It got to the point where the twins had to intervene, Lucy and Sam (back in human form and perfectly fine with not being able to speak) dragging Raphael off the sofa bed which he’d only begrudgingly been laying because Adam had told him to.

“He needs fresh air,” Jay informed them all when Raphael had been forced to put his head on his arms because of a migraine. “You can all move outside. It’s nice weather today, anyway.”

So it was decided: the adults moved outside with their planning and spread across the span of two fairly large picnic blankets in the backyard. Raphael in particular sprawled out in the middle, sunning himself for the first time all week.

“Right,” Adam began, carefully pressing in beside Warlock. “Raph, we know that they—”

“Sh,” Raph hissed, eyes pinched shut. He wagged a finger in Adam’s direction. “I’m figuring something out.”

“And what would _that _be?” Adam huffed exasperatedly.

“Tell you when I figure it out,” Raphael remarked testily.

There was silence for a while. Anathema stopped in just for a moment to set The Baby down on Raphael’s chest. The teen’s arms immediately wrapped securely around her.

“Heaven has Dad and Pop,” Raph began, speaking slowly. “Agnes said Dad and Pop are trapped in two minds after she referred to my fever in one prophecy. And I know I’ve been hallucinating them, from Eden, but who’s the other mind they’re trapped in?”

Yet another silence befell them, and Raphael pressed reverent fingers over The Baby’s soft skull, twining thin, sparse hair over his index finger. By the looks of it, she’d be another blonde.

“Pity I can’t ask you, eh?” Raph murmured to her. His eyes flitted somewhere fixed upward to his left. “Or you lot. Wouldn’t hurt to try, though. Do you know who else’s mind you’re in?”

“Christ, this kids home situation is worse than mine was at his age,” Warlock uttered beside him.

“It comes with the territory, unfortunately,” Adam whispered back. “At his age, I believe I’d met my biological mother for the very first time. At the twins’ age, I was foretold to have ended the world. I’m barely even occult, though. They’re rather made up of a lot of it.”

Warlock hummed, leaning his head on Adam’s shoulder glumly. He frowned. “I really need to find my sketchbook.”

Adam glanced at him through his lashes. “Drawing urge, love?”

_“Big _drawing urge,” Warlock replied. He didn’t move from his spot.

~*~

Beelzebub was exceptionally young. Younger than Satan, certainly. Younger than Crowley. Assumedly, they were also younger than Aziraphale, who’d been manifested in the height of the War. It didn’t happen often after the original Fall, but it _did _happen: after the Fall, and after the War, angels still did get Created and some even _did _Fall.

Beelzebub had Fallen after Lilith and Satan were already married. They came into power as the Prince of Hell solely because of their youth. Lilith had taken a rather close shining to them, took them beneath her wing, and then she appointed them the Prince of Hell, and Satan wouldn’t argue.

Family dinners didn’t happen often, but that was more of a reason not to miss it.

“What should we do about the children?” Beelzebub asked halfway through.

Lilith paused, glancing up at them through her lashes. Satan cleared his throat.

“I think,” Lilith said, slow and careful and purposeful, “I’m going to call them. I have their home phone number.”

They all continued to eat for a few minutes. Beelzebub reeled back, pulling their legs so they sat cross-legged on their seat, and ate for a few moments. They thought back six thousand years, back when the world, for them, was new. Millenia ago, Gabriel had looked up and looked away and then they’d been Created. In truth, Beelzebub had been the last angel Created, after the War, and it took eons and the blink of an eye before they were grown.

But Gabriel had been wrong, and Beelzebub had become so full of rage, so _wrathful, _that they’d Fallen.

“What are they like?” they asked quietly.

Satan stared at them, eyebrows drawn high in surprise. Lilith pursed her lips, swallowing a smile.

“Raphael, the eldest, is…” She considered her words, chewing them. She seemed to like the taste. “He’s smart. _So _smart, all of them. He’s fast, too, plays the mortal game of _football. _His team wins almost every time. Lucy and Sam were both named for the King, on Crowley’s whim. Lucy is strong, steadfast, loud. She does martial arts. Knows how to fight. Sam doesn’t speak. He’s very bright, though, and delicate, graceful. He goes to ballet a few days of the week. Jay is too much like Crowley to _not _be his child. She’s enjoyed astronomy for a long time. The last we checked, they were in a prank war with each other, the twins against Raphael and Jay. They’re all so clever and funny, they just…”

She looked so carefree, then, her pale brown hand pressed to a white blouse, her dark hair loose around her shoulders. She sighed heartily, and the smile turned bittersweet. Lilith looked, in a word, disheartened. Like a woman who’d just remembered that she couldn’t have kids anymore.

“They sound like treasures,” Beelzebub noted. “And their heritage is so interesting as well. Half angel and half demon. Are they blessed, do you know?”

“Aziraphale refused to bless them,” Satan said. “They didn’t know what might happen, since they’re all half demon.”

“Half demon, but they aren’t Fallen,” Lilith marveled. “Imagine that. A being borne of love through two opposing sides, the oldest opposing sides, and being completely innocent.”

“What would happen if we made them all dukes of Hell?” the prince blurted. “I mean, rather, since they _are _half demon, it’s not going to hurt them. We don’t yet know how hellfire and holy water affect them, either. There are so many strange things to consider in regards to them all. We don’t know whether they have wings, or what color they might be. We don’t know whether they’ll take after Crowley’s Aspect or Aziraphale’s. We don’t even know whether they can come into power, or if they have. As far as everyone’s aware, they age mortally, but they _are _immortals.”

“Yes, a very strange lot of contradictions,” the King sighed. “But I agree. We can make them dukes of Hell. It’d claim them to our side, keep them safe under our surveillance.”

“We promised Crowley we wouldn’t do that,” Lilith argued. “We promised when the twins were born that we wouldn’t do that.”

Satan frowned, eyes glowing faintly in his frustration. “My brother and I _have _spoken, my darling. He wishes that, should any harm come from Above, the children should be under Hell’s protection. His husband agrees. They trust us, and so do the children.”

It was a long argument that traversed into the end of dinner and closer to Lilith’s resting hours. Eventually, it was agreed: the choice would be to Raphael whether or not he and his siblings be made the High Dukes and Duchesses of Hell. Then, with mounting panic about the state of the children, Lilith dialed a well-worn number on an old-style telephone, which rung and rung.

~*~

An ancient answering machine clicked to voicemail.

_“This is Anthony Crowley—”_

_“And Ezra Fell!” _chimed the recording.

_“You know what to do,” _Crowley’s automated voice chuckled. _“Do it with—”_

_“Love!” _Aziraphale interrupted again. _“And good tidings!”_

To an empty house, Lilith left the voicemail: _“This is Lilith. I was calling to see how you all were. I rather need to speak to you, but Hell’s a bit compromised. I’ll check up on you as soon as I possibly can. I love you all dearly. See you soon.”_

~*~

“Gabriel!”

The archangel slowed down minimally. The young cherub caught up, pushing their dark hair up and out of their face. They smiled widely at their Creator, who returned it maybe a bit more tight-lipped than usual. He set a brutal pace, but Brezeale would not be put off. They practically had to jog to keep up with their superior, but the point stood.

“I had a few questions about my assignment,” they started, unable to avoid the dark flash that briefly crossed the archangel’s handsome face. “You know, the one about what I’m supposed to be making, the creature on Earth.”

“God’s given you the instructions, has She not, Brezeale?” Gabriel smiled again, strained. “You should know what your assigned creature is supposed to be.”

Brezeale stammered for a few moments, feeling embarrassed. “I-I just, I supposed, since you’ve, um, Created before, I could ask for a few starting tips.”

“I haven’t got the time, Brezeale,” Gabriel said. “Figure it out. I know you can do it.” He flashed a motivational look over his shoulder, slightly obscured by his longish hair, and then he was off.

Brezeale stood, letting the archangels leave them behind. They cleared their throat, fumbling briefly. “Right. Um. Jolly good, then. I’ll just. Get to it.”

Brezeale, like many other cherubs, had been charged with Creating the creatures that would one day fill the Earth, as God had to be hard at work Creating Her humans. The creature Brezeale had been instructed to Create would be a small thing, one day called an insect. It was yet to have an _official _name, but Brezeale moved to their workstation to begin.

They were hard at work for a long time. When other cherubs would pause for breaks, or get carried off by their groupies, Brezeale would stay sat in their little area, hard at work. Their creature was supposed to go through three phases of life—after they’d hatched, they’d be a small, squirming thing. Then, they’d go into a sort of hibernation in a thing called a chrysalis. One day, the chrysalis would break, and the final creature would emerge.

Sometimes, Brezeale would be a speculation. They often had to dismiss failed attempts, but just watching them work, the youngest angel to have been Created, was enough to cause their brethren enjoyment, it seemed. Sometimes, other cherubim would stop by them and ask whether they’d like to break for a time. Brezeale would often ignore them. They were a solitary worker. Nothing would stop them, short of Gabriel or God Herself.

The loneliness gave them time to think, and think they had.

The three phases eventually came together as though woven, slowly, ever so slowly, and then they stood abruptly, cradling a tiny, fluttering creature between their palms.

“Brezeale,” a fellow cherub said, catching their attention. “Are you quite alright?”

“Fetch Gabriel,” they answered, eyes going wide as the creature flapped tiny, featherless wings. “Somebody fetch the Archangel Gabriel.”

When Gabriel rushed into the cherubim working space, his face went from panic to realization to smooth professionalism. He was lead, excitedly, right up to Brezeale’s workspace. They smiled, wide and ecstatic, at their Creator.

“Brezeale,” Gabriel greeted stonily, hands clasped before himself.

“A butterfly,” Brezeale blurted, opening their cupped hands. The butterfly, as they’d deemed it, fluttered. Its wings were the same shade of violet as Gabriel’s eyes. “It’s called a butterfly. I made it.”

Gabriel cleared his throat, glancing around at the slowly settling cherubim around him. “Right, was that all? I haven’t got time to waste, Brezeale.”

They felt something crack. They took a moment to close their eyes, reprocess. “Yes. That was… all.”

“Good. Congratulations.” Gabriel turned coolly and a path spit through the cherubim.

It was shortly after Brezeale presented their Creation to God that the Lord of the Butterflies became the Lord of the Flies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, three things:  
-my new tumblr is @spaacey-ace2022, you can come see me on there, ask questions, make suggestions (or do that in the comments, I'm very appreciative and I try very hard to respond to every comment!!)  
-I've decided this is going to be the Good Ending, which means there will be a Bad Ending. I wanna explore this 'verse as much as possible. ;)  
-I've gotten a comment (or two) pointing out that all the kids have been either named after Crowley in some way or literally named after Satan, however The Baby has yet to be named for very obvious reasons. I believe I'm going to start a vote: What should The Baby's name be?


	7. dreams vs nightmares (iii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley forgets. The twins do not.
> 
> Gabriel is keeping more secrets than it seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: amnesia, brief mention of migraine pain, disappearance toward the end of the chapter.

One of the most prominent memories between the twins was hide and seek.

Sam wasn’t very good at it at the start. Lucy had been _too _good. Often, Sam would trip and fall and reveal his location, or he’d accidentally catch his hair on something and let out a vague sound of hurt. Even when he _wasn’t _noisy in his hiding, had thought about it thoroughly and was _absolutely _certain he’d found the perfect hiding place this time, Lucy crept around the corner and hauled him up, flailing and groaning, off the floor. And then Lucy, when hiding, was deadly silent, could pick a spot and stay in it for _hours _if she wanted, or at least until one of their parents had to intervene.

With time, Lucy only grew better. With time, Sam’s clumsiness got worse.

It’d gotten to the point where he’d be barely coordinated other than sharp gestures about what he wanted to say or vague movements to where he wanted to go. At first, Crowley and Aziraphale thought maybe he _did _have a problem with his ears, since that was most associated with balance, or it might’ve been something with his eyes.

It was not his ears, nor was it his eyes. Sam just happened to be a very clumsy child.

It was when day, when there was an interesting documentary about the history of dancing on the television, that Crowley and Aziraphale really _saw._ Sam was no stranger to television; none of the kids were, though they mostly preferred reading to the telly. Crowley liked watching the show about the alien time traveler in her free time, mostly because she got bored around the house when the kids were at school. Aziraphale liked having the telly on as background noise during breakfast, or when he was cooking dinner. Crowley liked that too, since sometimes her husband’s attention would _not _be solely on her when he was busy handling making supper.

This was how they learned precisely three things: one, this particular documentary happened to come on at the same time every Thursday evening when Aziraphale made dinner; two, Sam paid exemplary attention to this in particular when usually documentaries didn’t hold his attention; and three, Sam was rather inclined to the actual dancing bit about it.

So Crowley, sitting leaned back at the table, one eye focused on the left (where the kitchen island separated the main part of the house and Aziraphale was working away to settle six hungry bellies) and the other eye on the right (where the living room rolled out before her like the scene of stage and four eager kids spread like butter across it), well…

Crowley eyed up her youngest son, who oh-so-carefully positioned himself to stand like the ballerinas onscreen, the tip of his tongue flashing pink pressed between his lips in concentration. Sam lifted his arms up in the center of the living room, hands turned inward and fingertips near touching, and he rose to his tiptoes and then proceeded to lose his balance sideways. He pinwheeled his arms, and Lucy deftly reached an arm up to catch his wrist before he went careening into her space on the floor.

“What’re you doing, lovely?” Crowley called, leaning back farther in the already too far tilted back chair at the table, placing her socked feet firmly on the dark wood.

Sam turned fast, hands already up near his chest, eyes wide. He looked like Aziraphale when the angel had been caught off guard, which just so happened to be _now, _Crowley’s voice disrupting the steady calm lull of making dinner. Even now, Jay and Raphael were looking up from their respective books, and Lucy from the screen of the telly, all with their eyes on Sam.

Sam lifted his hands, his index and middle fingers out on each hand. He shook them at his shoulders, left-right-left-right, then tapped the side of his head with his right hand gently, two times.

In short, _Dancing, Mum._

Crowley smiled, a small and growing thing, eyes bright. “Of course. Can’t let your sister have all the fun, can we? Aziraphale.”

“Yes, my love?” Aziraphale answered. Standing under the warm orange kitchen lights, dressed in more modern, fitted khaki slacks and a pale blue button-up with sleeves rolled to the elbow, a dishrag thrown over his shoulder artfully, he looked like a painting. Michelangelo could only _try _to achieve the dawning beauty Aziraphale was exuding now, and it felt like the sunrise. “What is it?”

“How would you feel about signing Sam up for dance class?” Crowley asked, drinking up the sight before her, top to bottom and back again. She wanted to _sculpt _him, for someone’s sake! “Around the same time Lucy would be in martial arts.”

Aziraphale considered this while stirring the soup he was working on. _Secret stew,_ he’d called it. It was probably one of Crowley’s top three that he made. “It’s not a bad idea, actually. Sam gets _awfully _bored when Lucy’s at her martial arts. His balance could benefit. Oh! You know what?” Aziraphale smiled brightly, just remembering something that seemed quite important to the conversation. “There’s a dance studio in the same area as the martial arts building. How does that sound?”

Crowley glanced over to see Sam absolutely _beaming, _and that was the deciding factor.

Time passed. Sam ended up teaching everyone in the house and then some how to waltz, some six months into dance lessons. He’d become very, _very _good at hide and seek. Lucy had yet to beat him in the past month.

Raphael, upon this event, had a revelation. He proceeded to bolt off to the study, where he dug around in the closet very audibly until he found whatever he’d been looking for, which happened to be a golden lyre with little wings on the sides and a faint glow about it despite the dust. Aziraphale caught sight of it and chortled a bit, flustered.

“Now, why’d you go through all that trouble just to get that silly little thing?” he asked.

“Because I knew Mummy would play it if you wouldn’t,” Raph replied cheekily.

“Well, you were right,” Crowley responded, making grabby hands at the lyre. Raphael handed it to her easily. “Oh, it’s been too long. What, you want me to play a waltz?”

Sam waved his hands to get her attention, which he very much did. He signed carefully, if a little haltingly. _Write. One._

“You want me to _write _a _waltz?” _the demon crowed. She guffawed with laughter, head tipped back. “Oh, you’re write, absolutely. Challenge accepted, my lovely.”

Crowley sat herself down, carefully pulling all her mass of hair back into a bun. Then, she strummed each string, one by one. It truly _must’ve _been a long time since she last played. All the strings were tuned. Lyres such as these never did come _untuned, _for that matter. Crowley plucked out a rendition of _Under Pressure _for a few lines before determining the leading question to all those attempting to compose a waltz. _How did one go again?_

~*~

The way the twins remember the process was as this: where one’s memory fell off, the other’s would pick up with no fault. It was as cryptophasia. Their own secret language, folded not beneath their tongues as words and not in their hands, either, for that matter; this particular secret language the twins shared was _memories._

It should also be noted as such, that Aziraphale’s duty was to be the Principality of Knowledge, Literature, and History. Before this—the demotion that lead him to becoming a principality, and the Fall that caused him to be transferred into Gabriel’s Host of angels—he was the Cherubic Presence of Autobiographical Memory, which was quite a large duty for someone seemingly so prim and proper-raised who most presumed hadn’t seen a proper day of work in his life. And, while the original job was long behind him, it never _truly _left. Where Crowley might forget the details (like the fact that a Hell hound would show up to the birthday party), Aziraphale could recite the happenings of a conversation he had with a rude young lad in the period BC from the first occurrence down to the very last word.

The twins inherited this trait, with the extra added detail that, like Aziraphale could occasionally do, they could see into or monitor certain memories of those around them.

Sam had been having a very bad feeling about _everything _since the original Incident, but none could beat _this._

A few days ago, a twinge, as though he’d made a misstep and fallen on the hardwood floor at the dance studio, a light pain that throbbed hard for merely a few moments and then vanished like that. It’d come from nowhere, like an electric shock racing up his spine and then disappearing. Sam hadn’t thought much of it.

Now, though… Now, his head was on _fire. _It felt less of a twinge and more of a shift, like the tectonic plates making up his skull were opening up to unleash something _awful _to hound him. Sam bowed his head to hold it, tears hot and stinging. The pain, he realized after more than five seconds, would not ease. He high-stepped in place to relieve _something, _dreading how in the _world _he’d be feeling for the next few days. Maybe this was the fever Raphael had gotten. Maybe they all would get it.

A burst of light behind his eyes, spots in his vision, and Sam heard the faint sound of snipping beside his ear.

The pain stooped. When he frantically checked the hair at his left ear, it was still there, as though the sound was something phantom. He rather despised getting haircuts. He looked odd with short hair.

Lucy appeared in the doorway of the guest room they were sharing, eyes wide. “He’s forgotten,” she said faintly, as though in a trance. “He’s just forgotten about us. He forgot about Raphael, and now he’s done the same to him.”

_Who? _Sam wanted to sign. _How do you know? Did you feel it?_

Instead, he tapped his chest twice with a fist, and then put his right index finger to his temple. _I know._

“We have to tell them,” Lucy urged, marching dutifully across the room. “We need to tell them what’s happening.”

Sam _barely _understood. He grasped for answers, but the bottom of his stomach had slid out like a magic box and this trick did not have a funny ending. His fingers itched for the small piano in their home’s library. He couldn’t understand why.

“Cammon.” His sister grabbed his hand and tugged him along, out of the guest room. “No time to dally.”

~*~

Crowley didn’t know where he was.

Not the cottage. Not the bookshop either. So where?

And _what _was he forgetting? Not Aziraphale. _Never _Aziraphale. Raphael? Clearly not, if he just recalled it then. He must’ve been good. Nothing he was _really _forgetting, then. Must not have been important.

But it _felt _important. Hell, he hated this.

He opened his eyes. His boy was falling off the fence. He sprinted to catch him before he hit the ground.

~*~

Lucy and Sam were practically attached at the hip.

Reese could see it clearly. When Lucy needed to be comforted, she reached both arms toward her twin brother. When Sam needed comfort, he’d do the same to his twin sister. It was unclear where one’s wardrobe began and the other’s ended with the two of them; they seemed to interchange, neither really fitting fully into their respective gender expectation. One day, Lucy would be wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a soft tee shirt and the same day, Sam would emerge wearing a pair of tights and a large white sweater. They were practically inseparable.

As Lucy frantically dragged her into the guest room the pair shared, Sam shutting the door behind, Reese was reminded of the fellow principality she’d been sent with, long ago. The Principality of Light, Heart, and Hearth. She was the sort of person everyone saw as motherly or sisterly, at least. The type of person nobody could bear to _not _get attached to. This being said, Kabrïs and Corallin were family, the closest thing to family anyone in the Host could manage after the Fall and the War.

Corallin was older than her by a fifteen hundred years, had just a bit more experience than Reese had when she’d been spawned, but not much. Corallin only went to Earth on message relays sent by Gabriel to Aziraphale. Between the two of them, she’d been the only one to meet him. He’d become infamous among the other principalities fairly early on, due to his cherubic celestial body with three pairs of eyes that no longer glowed with life.

And Corallin had become infamous for her constant backlash toward Heaven. She fought every word that left Gabriel’s mouth. Eventually, she’d become infamous for her mysterious disappearance in the mid-1800s. Neither Heaven nor Hell saw hide nor hair of her, and the last person she’d allegedly been with was Reese. Reese _still _didn’t know where she was.

“Do you know what Pop is the principality of?” Lucy asked in a stage whisper. She and Sam stood her right to his left so their wide golden eyes aligned in the middle. It was eerie, how easy they’d seemed doing that. It was normal for them to do so.

“Knowledge, Literature, History,” Reese answered briskly. “And he’s been a principality since the Garden, remember, because your dad got him demoted with the whole apple business.”

Sam side-eyed his sister, closed his eyes, and then shrank. White and pink scales popped up along him, and then suddenly he was a rosy boa sitting curled up on the bed. “We could sort of sense someone losing memories of us. Jay, before then, but it _hurt, _really, when they forgot Lucy and I.”

“You seem more apt with your tongue,” Reese noted, observing how Sam’s mismatched eyes flicked about and his tongue poked out so he could smell the air. “It’s not befitting of you, though. You can change back, I know Brit Sign.”

Sam sighed in relief. “Thank the stars, I don’t really like how my voice sounds.” And then he was sitting at the edge of the bed, soft and pale and human as he pleased. His hand moved in a flurry of quick signs. Reese took a moment to process.

_Don’t know who, _he signed.

“Who’s _forgotten, _he means,” Lucy said quickly. “We know we probably get the memory thing from Pop, he’s always good at recalling things, but we don’t know whether he’s forgotten or Dad.”

Reese hummed. She considered it for a long moment, sending out a brief pulse of energy. It came back that there were five other angels and demons in the area, which was generally what _always _came back in regards to the five kids. She was used to not getting any feedback from Adam by now. Anathema was _powerful, _yes, but barely a _blip _compared to the five powerhouses around her.

“A good friend of mine,” she began slowly, “met with your pop occasionally. For work. She knew _a little _about your parents’ Arrangement, though not much, and she picked up a few things. You lot know what long-term memory is, yes?”

“Yeah,” Lucy replied as Sam nodded his head solemnly.

“Supposedly, back when Aziraphale was a cherub,” she continued, _“that’s _what he was in charge of. _Aziraphale, the Cherubic Presence of Memory. _Somefin’ like that.” She waved vaguely. “But my friend told me that, when she was around him, older memories would come into focus, sort of like looking through a-a _spyglass, _I suppose. The memories she’d _nearly _purged, the ones that were a bit _too _fuzzy, they became vivid and detailed. Once, after delivering a message to him, she could recite a poem she’d read in the early 1100s with absolute clarity. I get _something _like that around the pair of _you.”_

Lucy looked befuddled. Sam’s mouth was twisted downward, just a bit, his brows furrowed desperately as he tried to understand something too big for him. Finally, he lifted his hands toward his sister, and they had a conversation back and forth with each other in flurried silence until Lucy groaned.

“He thinks it’s Dad,” she said helplessly, eyebrows drawn up in their furrow, face crestfallen. “I can’t seem to see how it _couldn’t _be. Pop’s never forgotten _anything, _why would he stop now? Dad forgets things _all the time.” _She buried her her face in her hands. It was very unbefitting of her. Reese felt intrusive just _watching _her.

Sam lifted his hands, lowered them with an aborted _R-_something, and then lifted them again.

_Tell R-A-P-H. _He paused meaningfully. Then, with more force, _Need—tell—R._

_We need to tell Raphael, _Reese knew he was saying. She didn’t know what would happen if they _didn’t, _but it’d be anything but good.

“Alright,” she agreed, pushing a heavy wave of dark hair out of her face. “I’ll help you to explain it.”

~*~

Corallin hadn’t been _extraordinary. _That was for cherubim, for seraphim, for archangels.

She _was, _however, _argumentative and stubborn. _Those are the words Gabriel had chosen, at least. She fought every order she was given, told the Messenger he could damn well deliver messages himself—it was his _title, _for Heaven’s sake. She made scenes, she talked loudly, she moved with reckless Grace.

The word Aziraphale would use was _brave._

Corallin stopped in occasionally for some tea and an ear. Often, she came to deliver Gabriel’s stupid messages, but she stayed to talk to Aziraphale about her little sister.

Little sister was relative. The principality in question was only a thousand and five hundred years younger than Corallin. Corallin herself was _barely _more experienced than her sister, but she knew this already. Late into the night, she and Aziraphale chatted about respective companions, interesting encounters with humans, new fads in fashion or economy.

“What about your companion, then?” Corallin leaned back into the highbacked seat, sipping delicately on her tea. “Would I know him?”

Aziraphale flushed a little. “Ah, no. Afraid not. He’s not one for social encounters, really. He’s about as enthusiastic about the Host as you are, my dear.”

Corallin nodded in understanding. “Duly noted. It’s a shame, what the Host has come to be. I’m not meaning to _imply _anything, but I think there’s a very particular reason as to why the Almighty chose humans as Her favorite.”

Aziraphale smiled wide. “I definitely see where you’re coming from.”

It was shortly after that Corallin deigned to leave, offering a polite handshake between acquaintances at their parting. With that, the younger principality was off. Aziraphale never heard from her again.

(It may have been spoken truth that Kabrïs was the last to have seen Corallin, but it was really Aziraphale. The only person who knew this, in all actuality, was Gabriel, who sent Corallin on this last delivery and kept secrets locked in a box very, _very _close to his chest, if absent of any semblance of a heart.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at @spaacey-ace2022 on tumblr!!
> 
> Keep voting on The Baby's name! Tell me what you want to see, give me criticism, tell me what you like, the comments are yours! I promise I get back to all of them ;)


	8. no good deed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look into Aziraphale's consciousness.
> 
> Beelzebub collects intel and gives it to the monarch of Hell.
> 
> Raph's hallucinations decided to help.
> 
> We get to see what Michael and Gabriel are really planning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: forced memory loss, brainwashing, fainting, lovers pitted against each other.

Aziraphale didn’t often sleep, let alone dream.

Right now, he was. The dreaming bit, that is. He wasn’t so sure of the sleeping bit anymore. He _never _slept this long, and had been in the presence of his lovely spouse in an equally lovely cottage in the South Downs since nearly the beginning. After he’d fished Crowley from the bookshop fire, that is.

But things were _disappearing. _Photos from the walls, books from the library, plants from their pots, blankets from the bed and sofas. Even _cutlery _would go missing, and Aziraphale could _feel _it.

“What would you like for dinner, dearest?” he called from the kitchen island. The counter had been marble yesterday. Today, it was finished wood. Aziraphale didn’t mention the change.

“Hm?” Crowley said. He looked up dreamily, as though he’d been caught out of a dead sleep. That had been happening more and more often, as of late. “Oh. I think we should dine in tonight, angel. What would you say to pasta?”

Aziraphale faltered briefly, recoiling. “My dear, we had pasta just last night. Don’t you think we should eat something different?”

Beneath his feet, the wooden kitchen floor turned rough-hewn and cold. He glanced down through his peripheral; it had turned into tan stone tiles.

“We ordered takeaway last night,” Crowley countered, voice airy. “From that Thai place just up the road. Remember?”

There was no Thai place just up the road. The closest Thai place was a good forty-five minute drive away. The kitchen’s walls turned from cream to pale grey. Aziraphale barely noticed it. Instead, he was looking at the picture of four children moving around a small standing frame on the kitchen island.

Raphael, Lucy, Sam, and Jay frantically banged on the glass plate of the frame, their breath fogging up the plate as the yelled and sobbed in absolute silence.

Aziraphale swallowed, turning back to his spouse. “How would you feel about pasta, my dear?”

~*~

Beelzebub had taken it upon themself to collect intelligence.

It had taken a few days. Only a few, but the point stood: they’d collected intelligence. They had _information. _They had pieces to this large, unruly _fucking _puzzle, and while the picture wasn’t getting any clearer, this was a start.

They wrote everything down (i.e.: had Dagon write it down for them), collected the papers, and brought them to Lilith and Satan.

The King and Queen of Hell looked more aged than Beelzebub had ever seen them. Lilith accepted the intel with a skeptical glance, shuffling through them until she finally read through them all. Her eyebrows steadily rose as she processed the information. When she got the last page, she flipped it back and leafed through it again, this time a little more desperate, just a tad bit frantic. Satan sat up at his desk, and he looked hollowed out with how his eyes had sunken in the light that hit him more clearly.

“Beelzebub,” Lilith breathed, looking up at them. “This is true? All of it?”

“What I know is privy to your eyes,” the prince answered, buzzing with anxiety.

Lilith opened her mouth to speak but remained silent as the dead, flipping through it once more as though it’d suddenly say something else. Satan stood and gently pried the packet of papers from his wife’s frozen fingers. His eyes skimmed over the top page and then he stopped dead.

“I’m going to _kill _that brat,” he growled through his clenched teeth. “Who gave him the _right? _Who gave _either _of them _the right?!”_

“Beelzebub,” Lilith said, voice quivering. “We need you to watch the kingdom. My husband and I need to pay our nieces and nephews a visit.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Beelzebub answered. “Be safe, Your Majesties.”

“And you, my Prince,” the Queen said, leaning down to press a short kiss to the crown of their head.

And then Lilith took Satan’s hand, and the Prince of Hell turned toward the court hall.

~*~

“You’re still all _sweaty.”_

“My dear, I don’t think that was very polite of you.”

“I’m a _demon. _I don’t _do _polite.”

Raph groaned, slumping in his chair. Currently he was looking over all the things their rather large group had collected, and the Crawley and Aziraphale from Eden were _still _arguing. They’d put away their wings and halos, which was a relief, because the light had given Raphael migraines, as had the constant energy buzz radiating from them like LED lights.

“I’m sweaty because I have a _fever,” _he bit out, pulling at a clump of, indeed, sweat-matted hair. “Are _either _of you going to help, or are you just going to stand there?”

He sensed more than saw the eye-contact argument Crawley and Aziraphale made. Pop’s _well? _and Dad’s _you do it, you’re the nice one._ True to form, Aziraphale sighed rather loudly and marched dutifully around the kitchen table to take as dignified a seat as he could manage while continuously glaring at a demon.

“Now, what would you like help with, my dear boy?” he asked pleasantly, tilting his head at Raphael.

“You seem a good sounding board,” Raph observed. Then again, Pop had _always _been a good sounding board. “I’m going to read out some points that’ve been made and you’ll call back maybe what we missed. Like, ah… things we failed to connect. Patterns, strange occurrences, outliers, that sort.”

“Ooh, how fun.” Aziraphale smiled, eyes going manic like they sometimes did when he prepared to cause some mischief, and Raphael felt his breathing falter. “Go on, dear, I’m listening.”

Raphael fumbled, picking up the paper so he could read them off. He went over the basics: Dad and Pop were abducted into a pillar of light by Gabriel and Michael, and Dad was injured. Hell was not involved, only Heaven. Gabriel and Michael did not come back to take any of the kids. They’d came specifically _after _The Baby was Created.

“Say that last bit, my dear?” Aziraphale clasped his hands on the table and leaned a bit forward, face pinched into confusion.

Raphael glanced up, then back down at his papers. “Gabriel and Michael came only after The Baby was Created?”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Aziraphale murmured. He stroked his chin, very clearly deep in thought. His eyes flicked from left to right, as though searching for something. “Why _then? _And why not come back for _any _of you?”

“You said _I _was the one who Created?” Crawley spoke up. He was being quite quiet. “It’s coz if _Aziraphale _did it, they wouldn’t have had a reason to be on Earth. Archangels wouldn’t have need to be down unless corporate calls for it. Armageddon would’ve been an exception. If I was the one Creating, it could be perceived as a powerful demon’s satanic plans. It was their one chance.”

Aziraphale glanced suspiciously at the lanky figure Raph knew was standing directly behind his chair. “How would _you _be perceived as a powerful demon?”

“He was the Archangel Raphael before he Fell,” Raph cut in, pressing his chin into his palm. “On with it?”

“Right.” Aziraphale nodded. “Ah. Do you think the fever is connected to their abduction in any way?”

Raphael startled, pursing his lips down at his paper. “As far as I can recall, I’ve only ever been sick like this once before. When I was eleven.”

“Twice,” Anathema corrected from the doorway. She set a mug of hot cocoa beside his right hand on the table. “One time when you were a few months old, maybe almost a year, you got a fever like this one.”

“Could be connected,” Crawley suggested. “Once at a year old, another at eleven, and now at… thirteen, is it?”

“Mhm,” Raph confirmed. “Doesn’t make sense, though. Somefin’s not sticking right.”

“Maybe it’ll come back to you.” Aziraphale fixed his posture, setting his hands in his lap. “Keep going, my boy.”

Raphael cleared his throat—thick with sinus drainage—and continued onto the things that’ve happened since the day two weeks ago now. Beelzebub had popped onto the surface briefly, but didn’t stay long enough for anyone to speak to them. The Dad and Pop from Eden had shown up. Raph developed fever. The prophecy foretelling Lilith’s imminent visit. Reese’s arrival and the prophesized fact that Aziraphale and Crowley were trapped in Raphael’s mind and someone else’s as well. The halo of fire. Sam’s transformation and the finding of his voice. The forgetfulness of their dad.

“Your dad,” Aziraphale said slowly. “But you only call Crawley that, don’t you? You refer to me as _Pop.”_

“Yes,” Raph said slowly.

“And we are trapped in your mind and someone else’s, you said?” Aziraphale sat up straighter. A faint humming surrounded him, a glow hanging in the air behind his head. “We’re trapped in two minds, one of which is yours, and _I’m _not forgetting, but _Crawley _is.”

Raphael stood as the hallucination of Pop enlightened him. He hadn’t seen it before. How _could _he have seen it before?

Crawley rounded the table to Aziraphale, eyes alight. “Angel, what are you thinking?”

Aziraphale gestured about as he, too, stood. “I don’t quite _know. _I don’t really believe I’d be able to _do _it, now, would I?”

“Something exclusively for the archangels?” Raph suggested. “Something only _you _lot could do.” He pointed to Crawley, who looked a bit startled.

Raphael shuddered. When he looked back up, his Eden parents were gone again. He snatched a pencil and quickly scribbled down Aziraphale’s words: _Dad and Pop trapped in my mind and other; Dad is forgetting but not Pop. ???_

Another shiver raced down his spine and he quickly grabbed up his cocoa to sip it, rocking on his heels and toes nervously. What did it _mean? _What could archangels do to trap two people in two different people’s minds, one of which being _one of those people, _while making that person _forget? _How could an archangel put two separate people apart—people who _belonged _together, no less—and _completely pull those people’s consciousnesses from their respective bodies? _Raphael didn’t really want to know the answer.

There was a knock at the front door as Reese bolted through the kitchen door frantically. Her eyes were wild as Anathema moved to get the door.

“Do _not _open that door!” she called, voice crackling, giving her an almost savage sound.

Raph’s hands twitched. He squinted at Reese, then at Anathema standing in the open entry hall, then at his siblings who were all scrambling over each other to get to the door. He frowned, attempting this puzzle instead. It seemed much easier than his previous one.

When Adam appeared, befuddled, in the doorway with Warlock and Dog, it clicked.

“That’s sort of funny,” Raphael murmured, lazy smile drifting onto his face. He felt lightheaded, but he wouldn’t sit down yet. “You know, I don’t think he’ll appreciate your evil wards, Anathema.”

Anathema glanced over hyperactive kids, and her eyes held a glint. She smiled a little, the look quizzical on her face like only she could manage. A true American. “Sit down, honey. You’re swaying.”

And then she opened the door to Lucifer and Lilith.

Raphael blacked out.

~*~

Lilith had never run as fast in her life as she did to catch Raphael before he hit either the table or the ground. As it was, she barely got to him in time, but she still got to him, at least, so everything was _fine._

Everything was _not _fine. Crowley and Aziraphale had been _taken, _and their children were _alone, _and Raphael had just _passed out._

“Hey, Mum,” Adam greeted shyly.

She looked at him as she swept Raphael off the ground in a practiced carry. The thirteen-year-old had lost weight since his parents’ disappearance, she could tell.

Lilith didn’t flinch when Dog fixed his gait to hers, and carried her nephew to the living room.

“Your dear love, I assume?” she asked when Adam came back up beside her with the straight-haired young man who’d joined him in the doorway. “Warlock, you called him? Hm.” She chuckled. “The boy Crowley and Aziraphale thought was the Antichrist.”

Warlock sighed, throwing his arms up. “I _still _don’t get that. What’s that even supposed to _mean?”_

“Go’fatherssss,” Raph slurred from the couch. “They were your godfathersss.”

“Yes they were,” Lilith confirmed, voice gentle as she lifted Raphael’s upper half to wedge herself beneath his head. She stroked his hair with a certain motherly grace only she could manage to do. “Nanny Ashtoreth and Brother Francis, I believe they were called. Where are all my other nieces and nephews?”

The twins emerged, dragging Lucifer behind them. Jay lead the charge, eyes puffy but bright. The principality edged around the doorway to stand at a wall, looking more than a bit terrified. Lucifer was settled onto the ground before the sofa, and Jay and Sam squished next to him on either side. Lucy remained standing, leaning over to give an idle scratch to Dog, who sat with his chin on Lilith’s shoe.

“You’ve got news,” Jay said, her tiny, light eyebrows lifting high and desperate up her forehead.

“And _you’ve _got a baby sister,” Lilith countered. “Where is she?”

The witch entered the living room, her husband coming in behind with a bundle of white cradled delicately in his arms. Lilith reached out with both arms and the witchfinder scurried over to place the baby into her arms.

“Unnamed,” Raph murmured, reaching a hand up to gently card spindly fingers through spindly hair. “She’s just _The Baby _right now.”

“She’s gorgeous,” Lucifer awed, leaned forward to glean the child in his wife’s arms. “Hm. Has she opened her eyes yet?”

Raphael seemed to have no clue what this meant, but he answered, “Not a lot, and not too wide.”

A look around told Lilith why. “Turn the lights down?”

The witch followed the suggestion, and a mere two seconds later, two slit gold eyes blinked blearily open. The Baby babbled quietly, sucking on her pudgy fist, kicking her bootie-clad feet free of her blanket prison. She gurgled, reaching up toward Lilith. Lilith offered a single finger. The Baby grasped it tightly.

“We _do _have news,” she said. “And it’s not good.”

~*~

Beelzebub had learned the following in their searching, and this is what Lilith and Lucifer reported to the group in Jasmine Cottage that day: Aziraphale and Crowley were exactly where they’d been for the past two hundred years—a bookshop in Central Soho and an industrial flat in Mayfair.

And, while it was evident that they hadn’t particularly been harmed after the initial abduction, it was apparent that Aziraphale had been promoted back to his original rank of cherub. It was apparent that they were both powerhouses, except one thing did not make sense to Beelzebub when they learned this. The one thing was like so: while Aziraphale’s power was a constant feed of holy static, Crowley’s often wavered or spiked, like he couldn’t make up his mind on just _how _powerful he’d liked to be.

Like someone would occasionally force him to come further and further from humanity. Like someone was coaxing divinity out of him.

Horror spread like a plague in Hell when other demons heard of it. How the word got out, Beelzebub didn’t know. All they cared about was calming down their domain, which was teeming with anxious creatures.

“Who will they take next?” one voice shrieked.

“When will they attack?” another wailed.

“Why are they doing this?” a third screeched.

Beelzebub lifted their scepter, a tarnished, unholy thing they didn’t often wield, and pounded the end onto the ground beside their throne. “SILENCE!” they ordered.

Court hall fell silent.

“We don’t know Heaven’s next move,” they admitted despondently, their tired eyes sweeping over the crowd of lords, dukes, and regular demons. “We only know that they have Crowley and Aziraphale under full control. We know that their children are being watched by our King and Queen. We don’t know whether the children will be safe or not. Be prepared for an attack at the gates. You are dismissed.”

The demons turned and left apprehensively. Beelzebub did not catch the glint of a duke’s eye as he exited the court.

~*~

In a darkened flat in Mayfair, two archangels, a cherub, and an ex-archangel were gathered.

“This is taxing work, Aziraphale,” Gabriel observed. “You are very resolute for carrying out your Heavenly duty like this.”

Aziraphale kept steady, hands raised toward the still demon slumped on a stool. “Climb every mountain.”

“Very good,” Michael praised. “Where are we now, Aziraphale?”

“I believe I’m quite rusty after so many millennia without doing this, but nearly thirteen years have been erased completely.” Aziraphale grunted with the force of his power, rolling his shoulders and straightening his spine as a new surge broke through. This bolt, more powerful than the last, nearly knocked him off his feet. He cried out when he couldn’t maintain it, and Gabriel and Michael grabbed him by either arm and pulled him away.

“That will have to be enough for now,” Michael said. She and Gabriel righted the cherub and stepped away from him. “Aziraphale, you’re dismissed.”

With no further adieu, Aziraphale vanished himself back to his idle setting in the bookshop. The archangels turned to their Fallen brother.

“I think we’d be finished soon, if he weren’t so afraid of discorporating his mortal body,” Gabriel grunted, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s something with the proximity to his own consciousness, if I’m not mistaken.”

“It’s not like we can completely remove his consciousness from the demon,” Michael argued. She eyed the empty face of her little brother before her and felt no remorse. He’d gone from her heart a long, _long _time ago. “None of the children are divinely prepared for the keeping of souls like Raphael is.”

Gabriel hummed thoughtfully, glancing to Michael. “Do you think he’d be a good replacement?”

Michael closed her eyes and nodded. She felt satisfied. This plan was foolproof, truly. “Once we’re finished burning the unholiness from him, he’ll be accepted into Heaven and given true immortality. We even have Divine Grace waiting for him.”

The Messenger smiled. “Of course. And it’s imperative we give him Divine Consciousness, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh, absolutely.” Michael turned toward the kitchen whose bleak fluorescents had been flicked on at the beginning of the night. She turned them off and paced back to her brother. “He wouldn’t have the capacity to forget his little family otherwise. Shall we?”

Gabriel nodded. A beam of light rode them back into Heaven.

He didn’t know it yet, but the light burned Crowley’s eyes, as it did every night before this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, let me know what you think in the comments!! what should The Baby's name be? what do you think is going on behind the scenes?? what do you think is next???
> 
> come find me on tumblr at @spaacey-ace2022!! I'm always up to answering your questions!!


	9. dreams vs nightmares (iii)/a record stuck on repeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deciding vote on the High Dukes and Duchesses of Hell, revisiting the house, a look into the past (featuring a Messenger and a General leaning over the side of a babe's cradle).
> 
> Crowley does not forget. Aziraphale, even trapped, is always a step ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: mentions of magically induced sleeping, unattended baby, the archangels' break-in, slight body horror (very slight I'm talking the teeniest amount), brief mention of The Initial Abduction + brainwashing, and amnesia.

“Dear?”

Crowley glanced up, a lock of his growing hair trapped in Raphael’s fist. “Yes, angel?”

“Don’t you think, ah…” Aziraphale wrung his hands nervously. He was sat just in his armchair, near where Crowley’s head hung off the arm of their sofa. “I mean. I think we should try putting Raphael in the nursery. You know, so he won’t develop… um… an unhealthy attachment to us. I-I read it in a parenting guide. It’d be harder to part with your child, and vice versa, if you always had the child with you, even at night. And he’s almost a year old now, and I believe—”

“Angel, you don’t have to explain yourself,” Crowley interrupted, untangling the sleepy baby’s hand from his hair. “I think that’s a really good idea. You think we could try it tonight?”

Aziraphale startled. “Of course. I didn’t really think you’d agree so quickly, though, my love. We need a baby monitor. Oh dear, I don’t think I’ll be able to get a wink of sleep tonight!”

“All the better, angel,” Crowley murmured, playing with Raph where the baby was gripping his index fingers in either hand sluggishly. “That way, if he needs either of us, there won’t be much wait. You’ll be able to listen for him if I don’t wake up with the monitor.”

On his chest, Raphael hiccupped and began to sob. Crowley cradled him and sat up slowly, beginning to hush him.

“Someone needs a kip,” Aziraphale observed, standing to be by his husband. “Would you like any help to put him down, love?”

Crowley grunted. “Warm a bottle for him?” he requested, fluttering his lashes to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale nodded, settling a gentle kiss to the side of Crowley’s lips before he moved to the kitchen. Preparing a bottle was something Aziraphale had done probably a thousand times before at this point. The first time he or Crowley had tried to miracle up a warm bottle of formula, Raphael had cried and cried, and neither of them knew what to do until Crowley had taken a taste of the milky white substance in the bottle and made a sour face. Since then, they’d hand-made Raph’s bottles.

It was a routine Aziraphale knew well by now. Scoop in the formula powder, poor in water, screw the nipple on, shake, and microwave. When it came out of the microwave, now warmed to his liking, Aziraphale added threw drops of vanilla extract and shook it once more to mix it in. He made his way down the hall, where the sound of Crowley quietly singing drew him like metal to a magnet.

_“Love me like there’s no tomorrow,” _he crooned. _“Hold me in your arms, tell me you mean it. This is our last goodbye, and very soon it will be over, but today just love me like there’s no tomorrow.”_

“Here you are, my love,” Aziraphale said, passing Crowley the bottle.

Crowley smiled his thanks, continuing to serenade the baby into sleep with the wistful tune. Raphael accepted his bottle with greedy hunger, suckling at it. His tiny hands wrapped weakly around the plastic. Aziraphale cooed where he sat just beside the rocking chair, brushing soft tufts of pale red hair from their child’s forehead.

“Alright, darling,” Crowley murmured, carefully coaxing the near-empty bottle from Raph’s mouth and hands. His eyes had slipped shut, and he didn’t so much as fight when the demon took the bottle back. “Will you put him in the cradle, Aziraphale?”

“Of course, my dear,” Aziraphale said, taking Raph from his spouse’s arms. He stepped slowly to the rarely used cradle, the one with the retractable wooden bars at the side, and leaned over the side to lightly set his son on the mattress.

Crowley came in beside him to set a soft blue sheep plush by Raph’s head, and his yellow blankie near his soft legs.

~*~

The day was done, and Crowley and Aziraphale had settled Raphael down with a baby monitor in his room and the connected one in theirs. Crowley was long asleep by now, wrapped around his angel’s waist with his face in Aziraphale’s side while Aziraphale read _The Picture of Dorian Gray _with only the lone bedside light.

And then Aziraphale fell asleep.

In an hour and thirteen minutes, Raphael would wake to two strangers standing above his crib and begin to cry, but Aziraphale would not be awake through no fault of his own, and neither would Crowley.

In an hour and _seventeen_ minutes, Gabriel and Michael would leave, and Raphael’s cries would wake up Crowley and Aziraphale, who would rush to the infant’s aid to learn that he’d developed a fever. The amount of evidence proving foul play would be none.

Or, at least, _nearly _none.

~*~

Crowley sighed as he stared at his baby. Aziraphale had finally departed to go get groceries for the house, leaving Crowley alone with Raphael. For the third time that day alone, Crowley pried open a third eye that’d remained, for a long while, shut, and looked upon the baby with the Eye of the Healer.

“I still don’t understand how you managed to get yourself a ring of Holy Fire,” he said to Raph, who writhed in the center of his and Aziraphale’s bed, surrounded on both sides with pillows. A wavering ring of orange-gold flames did, indeed, ring Raph’s admittedly sort of small body. Sweat clung to the poor bean’s skin, matting his soft hair down. “I know I can’t help you get rid of the pesky thing all by myself, either, because it take’s _a lot _for one archangel to _give _a ring of Holy Fire, let alone a different one take it away. And I know it’s hurting you, coz you’re half _me.”_

He stared at the sniveling, whimpering babe for a long moment and sighed, making up his mind.

Crowley stood from the bed, just for a moment, and fished his phone off the bedroom desk, dialing a well-known number and waiting. It picked up on the third ring.

_“I wasn’t expecting a call so soon,” _Lucifer said over the line.

“I know you weren’t,” Crowley answered, “but someone put Holy Fire around my baby, and he’s hurting, and I can’t remove it on my own.”

A pause. _“Does Aziraphale know what it is?” _his brother asked quietly.

“No,” the younger demon said, rubbing a hand down his face. “He’s out right now. I need to get rid of this ring, fast, but I need your help to do it.”

_“Consider it done.” _Lucifer grunted, as though moving to get up from a seated position. _“I’m on my way, little brother.”_

~*~

Raph woke to the weight of two smallish bodies on either side of him and a faint glow emitting down onto his face.

The Baby was still sleeping soundly. Obviously, so were the twins. He pried his eyes open, squinting at the culprit. Probably just Jay trying to figure out how to get around Jasmine Cottage while it was so dark. It wasn’t too big a deal.

Jay was kneeled over Raphael’s waist, shimmering iridescent outlines of soft, downy wings at her back, a golden eye open at her forehead and two more on the palms of her hands. And the glow of light was coming from _her, _not a candle or torch.

“You’re on fire,” she said quietly, tilting her head at him.

Raph swallowed, feeling more faint than he had since the fever first emerged. “Why’ve you got so many eyes, Bluejay?”

Jay blinked two cerulean eyes and a golden one down at two ore golden ones on her palms, which blinked back up at her. She shrugged noncommittally. “Might be something Dad can do. But you’re on fire, Raphie. It’s killing you.”

“How can I be on fire?” Raphael sat up, mindful of Sam and Lucy who were wrapped loosely around his waist. “I just have a fever, Jay, it’ll pass.”

“No, you’re sister’s right.”

In the pale light Jay’s body cast, Raph saw Lucifer arrive in the doorway. His face was gloomy, downcast and solemn. His too-bright eyes reflected the glow from the eight-year-old.

“This has happened before,” Lucifer said quietly. “Once when you were an infant, and the second when you were eleven, and now. You’re surrounded by a ring of Holy Fire, and you’re half demon.”

Violet eyes pierced Raph’s skull. An empty scabbard. Patronizing voices in the dark. Crying and crying with nobody answering his call.

_Oh, you’ll be the best of us, _a man-shaped being had said. _Once we get the filthy demon out of you, you’re going to be Raphael who art in Heaven._

_How kind of that Crawley to have had this idea, _a harsh woman’s voice had cooed. _He must’ve known that naming you Raphael made you holier._

Raphael felt a little like that infant now, crying for what felt like ages with Daddy and Papa not coming, surrounded on all sides by Holy Flames that were, quite literally, killing him.

“I don’t want to die,” he breathed tremulously.

Lucifer’s strong, solemn face crumpled. He leaned over the side of the bed, pulling Raph close in a reassuring embrace. He felt cool and nice against Raphael’s burning skin.

“I would never let that happen,” the King of Hell murmured. “Get some rest. We’ll figure out how to get rid of it tomorrow.”

Raphael stared at his uncle as he pulled away and then settled back against the pillows. The dim glow of his little sister faded out. When he looked at Jay again, she had two sea-blue eyes and a knackered look about her. She crawled up his midriff until she rested against Raph’s chest.

He closed his eyes as the guest bedroom door creaked shut.

~*~

There were too many people. Far too many people, and he’d been around them for far too long.

Lilith could see it wearing Raphael down. She could _always _see it. Even as a baby, Raphael would get cranky if Crowley and Aziraphale had guests over for longer than three hours. Lilith had managed to observe so much about these four even before this pressing ordeal.

Raphael couldn’t handle being around many people for long. None of the kids could, really. Lucy was better about it, though not by much. Sam started to ignore people at a certain point. Jay would disappear shortly after Sam went still. They got antisocial tendencies from Aziraphale, who didn’t understand how Crowley could put up with splitting his focus between so many guests at once.

At this point in time, Sam was noticeably edging out of rooms, hands clasped in the center of his chest as though praying. He’d start fraying the edge of his shirt from wringing it soon. Lilith kept one eye out for him and the other for Jay. If the eight-year-old slipped beneath the radar for even a moment, Lilith wouldn’t know where to look, especially at Jasmine Cottage.

“I trust almost everyone here,” she spoke to Lucifer when the kids had converged on the sofa to eat lunch. She herself cradled The Baby to feed her, and she was aware of Raphael picking at his meal and glancing at her as though she’d take The Baby and run. “But I think they need to get out of here.”

Lucifer nodded soundly. “You’re right, as always, my love. I think we should take them back to their house.” He glanced behind himself, toward the dining room. “They’re all distracted. We’ll leave a note.”

That was how, within five minutes, Lilith and Lucifer moved all the kids out of Jasmine Cottage and down the road.

Sam and Lucy sought out each other’s hands. Jay gripped Raphael’s arm. The Baby began wailing. Lilith rocked her gently, doing her best to calm down the hysterical newborn, but it seemed even her best effort fell flat sometimes. Further up the road, when the house came into view, Raph fell back and offered his arms. Jay still held fast to the hem of his shirt.

When Lilith handed him The Baby, the change was near instant. Raphael swayed his torso side to side. The infant’s cries quieted.

They all halted on the doormat.

_Key under mailbox, _Sam signed, staring frigidly at the front door.

Lucifer reached beneath the mailbox to the right of the door and came back holding a shiny silver key. He unlocked the house with a practiced hand and held open the door. The kids stepped inside, Sam and Lucy, then Jay, then Raphael carrying The Baby. The King and Queen of Hell followed, and Lucifer shut and locked the door behind himself.

Upon entering the living room, Lilith saw Jay dragging an older wheeled bassinet from the hall closet where it’d been kept. She stepped carefully through the doorway, and hauled the bassinet around the armchairs to be locked down beside the arm of the sofa. Raphael, still swaying The Baby, snapped his fingers and the thin sheen of dust lifted off the old bassinet. He laid her down gently, making small hissy hushing sounds at her the whole way. The twins were pulling at a soft blanket set on the floor, tugging it to rights before they sat on one side of it. Jay converged with them to sit where middle edge could be perceived. Raph leaned down to place a kiss on The Baby’s head and then carefully walked the length of the living room.

He ducked down behind the armchair facing away from the sliding glass door that lead to the backyard and emerged with a dusty copy of _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. _He swung about the armchair, blowing all the dust off with a handy miracle, and set himself down on the unoccupied edge of the blanket on the floor.

He shrugged out of the large blue cardigan he’d been wearing, folding it carefully in the epicenter of the blanket and placing the book atop it.

“Oh,” Lilith realized breathlessly, her hand coming up as shock settled in.

This is how they’d been, she could see it. Lucy on the inside left, Sam to her right, Jay facing the hall, Raphael with his back to the sliding glass door, Aziraphale with his back to the hallway wearing a soft, pale blue cardigan and reading _The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes _aloud to the kids. Crowley having a midday nap, his head resting on the armrest The Baby’s bassinet now resided beside, sprawled across the sofa, waking to his husband reading to their children and—

Creation, then light, and Crowley had a vantage point of seeing the whole room even as Aziraphale was taken from behind, unable to do anything as he frantically wrapped up The Baby, passed her to Raphael, and made sure the kids were _out of the house._

Raphael took a shuddering breath, closed his eyes, and then stood. He bent to kiss each one of his younger siblings’ heads, then tidied the ruffled sofa. He cast a far-off glance to the sliding glass doors, and Lilith saw it: a single bloodied handprint, long since crusted brown. She averted her eyes as they threatened to spill over with unseemly tears.

She and Lucifer needed to be strong for them. These four needed shoulders to cry on and capable caretakers.

All plans the adults had made had been flipped about when Lucifer and Lilith had shown up. Now to the matters at hand, she decided. It was, indeed, now or never.

“Raphael,” she called, steadying her voice and straightening her spine. “Your uncle needs to speak to you. I’ll watch your siblings.”

Raphael looked back at her, then to Lucifer, and nodded. Lucifer gestured him over and headed for the hallway. Raph followed silently.

~*~

When Aziraphale returned home, it was to a knackered husband, a swiftly-cooling baby, and his brother-in-law and his wife.

Lucifer and Lilith sat thigh-to-thigh on the sofa, hand clasped on Lilith’s lap as Crowley paced the living room rocking young Raph. Aziraphale had seen him do that plenty of times these past few days in an effort to calm the babe’s wails—Crowley’s skin was naturally cool, whereas Aziraphale’s was naturally warm, so Crowley would hold Raphael to his bare chest, which was typically cold as ice—but this time seemed calmer, a more relaxed pace as Crowley talked companionably with his brother and sister-in-law.

His voice was more hissing than usual, and his eyelids were half-closed, and his words dragged long and slow. Aziraphale dropped off the reusable totes in the kitchen and came up behind his husband to gather Raphael into his own arms. He nudged Crowley over to the armchair, marveling at how quickly Raphael’s fever had gone down.

“Don’t tell me you let your brother take his soul just to cool him down,” he scoffed jokingly.

“Nggh,” Crowley grunted, head lolling sideways at Aziraphale. “Nah. I figured it out, then got it covered. Invited Lucifer and Lilith over because we needed to talk.”

That gave him pause as he glanced to the the rulers of Hell and then to his husband in a new light. He hitched Raph a bit closer. “And what was it we needed to talk about?”

“No need for the tension, Aziraphale,” Lilith assured him smoothly. “It’s insurance for Raphael and any future children you may have.”

Aziraphale walked around the back of the sofa to grab Raphael’s rolling bassinet and pulled it beside the armchair, placing the babe down in it as he gurgled sleepily. He waited for Crowley to perch on an armrest before he sat down. Crowley released his grip on the side of the armchair, sprawling so he laid horizontally across the armchair, his socked feet hanging off the opposite armrest as he reached behind his own head into the bassinet.

“We were talking, Crowley, Lilith, and I,” Lucifer began, he gestured with the hand not held firmly in his wife’s lap. “Lilith decided a long time ago that Crowley would be her champion, and renewed that announcement after the whole incident with the world almost ending. And with Lilith behind you, that means all of Hell is behind you. Heaven, however, is still…”

Aziraphale nodded solemnly. “A lot of white-winged bastards, yes. Excuse my language, I don’t often swear.”

“Not until after we got married,” Crowley murmured cheerfully.

“Indeed, my dear.”

“Anyway,” Lucifer continued. “Heaven being quiet is too… unpredictable. You wouldn’t know what they were planning until after the damage was too deep to undo. We wanted to offer, if you’d let us, that Raphael and any future children have the choice of becoming High Dukes and Duchesses of Hell. But, being that Raphael would be your first and eldest child, he’d be the one making the decision, should you both be out of commission. Self-proclaiming to Hell would put them under our protection. Or, more specifically, Lilith’s protection.”

A contemplative silence filled the living room as Aziraphale considered the matter.

“Crowley’s already agreed, has he?” the angel asked, voice gone a bit quiet in his thoughtfulness.

“He has,” Lilith confirmed, nodding slowly. “He came up with the idea.”

Aziraphale stared down at his half-asleep husband for a long moment. He nodded. “I think that’d be a very good idea,” he said softly, “should the need arise.”

~*~

Some twelve years later, the need had arisen.

Lucifer and Raphael sat facing each other in the office, Lucifer explaining carefully the terms and conditions of this decision—the kids might not be able to come into any holy power, any immunity to holy water might vanish if there’d been any in the first place, more demonic features might appear. It was all undetermined, though, and Raphael kept coming back to _that _in his head.

_It’s all undetermined, _he considered, pursing his lips as he stared hard at the hardwood floors of the office, _because nothing like this has ever been done before. It’s all undetermined because nothing like us has ever existed before._

“You’d be able to enter and exit Hell as you pleased,” his uncle carried on, “but we don’t know whether you lot being in that status would affect being able to enter Heaven. We don’t know _a lot _of things, Raphael. This could turn out terribly wrong or terribly right. It could turn out in your favor but not in one of your siblings’, or could affect the newborn differently since she’d be coming into it so young.”

“Or it could…” He searched the wooden floorboards as though for answers. “Or it could all stay the same. Not affect any of us at all besides putting us under Lilith’s protection.”

Lucifer relinquished a sliver of a proud smile. “Very good, Raphael. You’ve got a fine mind.” He waited a beat, leaning back in his chair. “Does that mean you’ve come to a decision?”

Raphael leaned back in his own spot—Dad’s loveseat, which he sprawled elegantly across while Papa rebound an ancient book—and gave a few more moments to consider. Pop had told him once that things worked not as they were supposed to, but as he and Dad _expected _them to, and Raphael figured that if he was really a supernatural being like his parents, then things would work as he expected them to as well. When he nodded his head, he had no doubt in his mind: nothing would change except their official status and their being under Lilith’s protection.

“Right,” Lucifer said, standing an offering Raph a hand up. “Let’s go see Lilith, then.”

~*~

The flat tingled with tense silence.

Aziraphale stared blankly at the demon who never moved a twitch. Gabriel and Michael’s glares bored into the back of his head.

“What?” Gabriel barked.

“It stops there,” Aziraphale repeated calmly. He could not feel freaked out at the eeriness. He didn’t have the capacity to. “Thirteen years ago. There’s one last memory, a single moment, but I can’t remove it or the consciousness will be released.”

Gabriel growled in frustration. Michael crossed her arms, pacing back and forth beside her brother.

“Leave it, then,” she said tersely, no small amount of anger in her voice. “Report back to your station. Await further instruction.”

Aziraphale reported out and returned to his station, the bookshop in Soho. Gabriel and Michael were left to puzzle how there were no memories past what Crowley and Aziraphale’s consciousnesses currently resided in.

They came up with nothing.

~*~

Aziraphale didn’t have much time. He knew that. He could _feel_ it.

He barely had time to witness Crowley Creating. His chest was already tingling with an unseen force, with an intruding power. Within the moment it took for a newborn to appear in his husband’s arms, Aziraphale stood to meet the intruders face-to-face. Gale-force winds whipped at his clothes and hair. He could hear the children screaming, could hear Crowley speak, but couldn’t register what they were saying.

Screaming. _Wailing, _more like it.

A memory, light as air, floated past. Aziraphale grabbed it and held on as the winds tore his cardigan from his shoulders, only dimly aware of the pressure against his celestial body. Dimly aware of Crowley crying out in pain. Of the Cherubic Presence of Memory breaking the surface and taking over Aziraphale’s instinctual actions.

That’s all it was. _Instincts. _No conscious act.

Everything drained. Aziraphale held fast to the wailing sound of a newborn, of soft pinkish hair being swept away from the large, expressive, serpentine eyes young Raphael had inherited from Crowley. Aziraphale held fast to the new weight being dropped into his arms.

Aziraphale held fast.

In Lower Tadfield, a thirteen-year-old boy woke up with a fever and six thousand years worth of memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so I'm on tumblr as @spaacey-ace2022 come see me!!!! kudos are highly appreciated, as are comments--which I reply to every one of as soon as I see them!
> 
> okay!! what do you think will happen next up? what do you think The Baby will be named???


	10. it's the rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Bentley knows when someone needs to go places.
> 
> There's a bookshop in Soho that's recently reopened. Raphael comes into his power.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: child "driving" a car (not technically, but he's behind the wheel), a moment inclined into violence toward the end but nobody really gets hurt except Crowley's old sunglasses.

When Lilith and Lucifer were summoned back to Hell on Beelzebub’s call, Raphael wasn’t expecting them to leave the five of them at the house by themselves.

It stumped him for a while. He kept an eye on his siblings for an hour, tops—made a quick lunch, fed The Baby, and flicked the telly on for a while—before he got too restless and could no longer suffer. By the looks of it, his siblings felt the same way.

Raphael announced to them, “I’ll be back in ten minutes, I’m just going to the garage,” and left Sam, Lucy, and Jay watching the show about the time traveler in a police box Dad fancied.

The Baby gurgled sleepily in her new backpack carrier on Raph’s chest as he used the hall door into the garage, and the light flicked on instinctively in his presence. He shut the door and stared at the dust-laden classic car that waited here.

“Hallo, Bentley,” he greeted quietly, feeling just this side of sane. He rounded on the vehicle, cradling the back of The Baby’s head with calm, gentle fingers whose shaking was only miniscule at the moment. “I’ve heard you’re a good car. ‘s that true?”

No response. Raphael turned the back of the car and walked up the other side where the passenger seat was.

“Your owner’s gone,” he observed aloud. “For now, that is. I plan on changing that, you know. He mentioned you could self-navigate, is that right?”

Still nothing. He was beginning to harbor frustration.

The Baby babbled loudly, waving tiny fists with great effort, and the dust cleared. The headlights flickered and flashed on.

Raphael stared at the car, then at The Baby.

“You listen to her but not to me?” he grumbled. “What do you want me to do, put her carrier in the driver’s seat?”

The Bentley revved in response. It sounded as though it were having a good laugh. Raphael, despite himself, found his own giggle bubbling up, tears gathering at his eyes as he let out his first laugh in days. Surprise surged forward in his chest and he swayed The Baby.

“You stay on, alright?” he prompted, opening the door back into the house. He peeked his head into the hall. “Guys! I have an idea. Grab your shoes and a coat and get over here.” He ducked back into the garage before he thought better of himself. “Turn of the telly, please!”

There was the sound of shuffling, Jay and Lucy asking questions, a shout, and the Sam slammed around the corner, stuffing his left arm into a dark violet windbreaker-coat. It came down to nearly his knees, which meant he’d probably found it in Dad and Pop’s wardrobe. That is to say, Sam was wearing one of Dad’s coats. When Lucy and Jay came around the corner, it was revealed that maybe _all _of them had been digging in their parents’ closet.

Lucy wore a very well-worn grey cardigan—the sort that Pop wore when he intended to spend a full day reading—and Jay had on a rather very large black hoodie. Her hair was tied into a high ponytail with an old ascot with the tartan pattern Pop favored.

They all stared at the purring Bentley with wide eyes.

_Drive? _Sam signed inquisitively at Raph.

“I don’t know what you’re meaning to ask me,” Raphael said matter-of-factly, index finger in the air as he gently swayed and patted The Baby’s back with his free hand, “but no, I _do not _know how to drive and yes, we _are _going driving. The Bentley knows what she’s doing. Isn’t that right, old girl?”

The Bentley hummed in response. Raphael rounded the right side of the car, pulling the handle. The door opened easily. He lifted the seats back, gesturing toward the backseats. He hadn’t remembered the Bentley being so spacious, but that was besides the point.

Raphael watched as Sam climbed in, and then stopped Jay before she, too, clambered in. He thought it up and summoned it: a baby carrier, the car-riding kind, placed neatly in the middle seat of the Bentley’s backseat, already buckled in facing backward, as baby carriers of this sort always should while in a vehicle. He leaned in, placed The Baby into the carrier, and had Sam buckle her in as Jay made her way into the other window seat.

“We’re all buckled in,” Jay called after a moment which Raph took to remove the backpack carrier from off his chest.

“I’ve got it,” Lucy said, pushing the seat back. She hopped up onto the seat in the driver’s side, then scooted across the seats instead of simply going around the other side of the car. She looked at her lap, then at Raphael, her mismatched eyes underlined with an exhaustion Raphael felt in his bones but alight with… _hope. _A glimmer of hope, flickering but resistant against the wind.

Raphael set the backpack carrier in the middle seat and slid in behind the wheel. The garage door lifted.

The Bentley backed up of its own accord, and Raphael gripped onto the wheel for dear life. He briefly recalled how Dad would drive this thing—just holding onto the wheel, letting his car steer itself, not even a foot on the pedal. The Bentley drove of the driver’s intuition.

_Soho and Mayfair, _Raphael thought, swallowing hard as his eyes stung. He remade his grip on the wheel, loosening his tense arms and fingers. He rolled his shoulders. _Pop is in Soho. Dad is in Mayfair._

He felt it echo back to him. The Bentley backed up into the street past their minivan, and Raphael’s grip went left with the wheel. The revving paused, and Raph caught a glance of the garage door closing itself just before the Bentley sped off down the road, toward Soho and Mayfair.

~*~

The Ritz was a fine dining establishment. It was high-class, with many a rich person enjoying the fine dining with their noses turned upward and their clothes expensive and uncomfortable, snobby chaps giving backhanded compliments to their dates, who laughed snobby, tight, feminine giggles at their partners.

With a ten-year-old, two eight-year-olds, and a five-year-old, Crowley and Aziraphale were a sight to behold. The odd-looking older couple who’d not come to eat there for some eleven years yet, the darker-dressed of the two with much longer hair in a loose but elegant fall gracing his shoulders and lighter clothing and the other wearing the exact same outfit he’d been wearing when they last came to dine here.

And with _children. _A fine lot of them, at that.

Many a snooty rich person sent them side-eyes as Crowley and Aziraphale were lead to their reservation-for-six.

Aziraphale had called ahead this time. He’d been worked up about it for an hour beforehand and an hour afterward, but he seemed mighty proud of himself for registering it under the party of _Fell._

Crowley was wearing a navy blue button-down and a black vest over his black jeans and typical boots, but he no longer wore a snakeskin belt, and he had a simple pale gold band on his left ring finger. With his hair down and lovingly curling around his neck and shoulders, he looked quite dashing, the picture of parenthood as he held hands with Jay and Sam, who in turn held Lucy’s hand. Raphael gripped Aziraphale’s sleeve nervously, pushing up his round-framed glasses every few minutes like clockwork. Aziraphale noted that they’d need to get them refitted sooner rather than later.

He witnessed with warmth growing in his chest as Lucy noticed her twin’s anxious hand-squeezing, almost as though Sam wanted to remove his hands from his dad and sister’s holds and hold onto the bowtie he’d insisted he wanted to wear. The elder of the twins lifted the hand she was holding onto and kissed the back of it tenderly before dropping it back down between them, a simple but appreciated gesture: Lucy was here, and she was here almost exclusively for Sam’s support.

Crowley chatted carefully with Jay in a completely different language. By the sound of it, Aziraphale decided it had to be Latin. The five-year-old absently pawed at the tartan headband sitting at the crown of her head amongst airy white-gold locks. He took a moment to reach up and straighten it for her, sending up a wink when she smiled back at him in thanks. Crowley chuckled and leaned to his right, scooping her up easily onto his hip.

They’d gotten much closer as of late. Aziraphale couldn’t be more proud.

“Our table,” he said when Crowley nearly passed the six-seater.

“Ah,” his husband breathed, leaning over to set Jay in a chair Raphael pulled out. “Thank you, darling. Here you are, starburst.”

Aziraphale tugged a chair out for Crowley before the demon could do the same for him. Lucy dropped into a seat beside Jay, Sam opting to sit next to Raphael, who’d landed beside Aziraphale.

Aziraphale picked up the menu.

“Are we doing wine with this meal, angel?” Crowley asked privately, golden eyes flicking up above the tops of his frames.

“Hm,” he hummed. He cast glance across their children, eyes landing on their five-year-old. “Jay, do you think Daddy and I should have wine with this meal?”

“Nup,” Jay replied absently, staring down at the menu with about ninety percent of her attention. “No alcohol. Only at home so people perceive you as good parents.”

“Duly noted,” Crowley said, letting out a breathy chuckle. He lifted a brief glance across the menu before setting it back down.

Sam made an aborted movement that looked sort of like _want _but didn’t quite land. He let out a frustrated sigh, glanced over at Lucy, and pointed down at the menu. Lucy nodded and relayed her and Sam’s orders to Aziraphale. Jay was leaning over to Crowley and they whispered about one meal or another. They came to a decision; Crowley would share a meal with Jay, because he knew Aziraphale like to see him eat occasionally and Jay wouldn’t finish an awfully big meal. Raphael, to Aziraphale’s left, was squinting down at the menu.

“What’s the matter, dear boy?” he asked.

The ten-year-old tugged at his blazer cuffs. “Don’t really know what to get, Papa.”

Aziraphale sent his boy a reassuring smile. “I’m sure we can figure something out, Raphael.”

The Ritz was a fine dining establishment with an unspoken rule against bringing along children. Today, the Ritz had been christened by the combined grace and love of Crowley and Aziraphale’s whole family.

~*~

When Lilith and Lucifer returned to the house, it was to silence and a note written in an eight-year-old’s almost-crisp handwriting which read this: _Went out. We’re safe. Raph driving Bentley. Love, Jay._

The couple stared at each other for a long moment.

“Beelzebub?” Lucifer breathed.

“Yes,” Lilith agreed, “Beelzebub.”

~*~

Pedestrians did not stare because there were five children in the car. No, they most definitely _stared, _but only because the Bentley was going oh, say, about ninety-two miles an hour.

Jay and Lucy screamed in delight every time the Bentley swerved a little too far. Sam cooed softly at The Baby to calm her, with more than a few patches of glistening white scales popping up along his body. Raph held onto the steering wheel and decidedly did not look away from the road.

_I Want To Break Free _blasted from the cassette player, and Raphael wondered for only a moment what connection the classic vehicle was trying to get him to make.

“Oh, this is _wonderful,” _Lucy said beside him, beaming brighter than _any _of them had in days. “I don’t know why Dad didn’t—”

She faltered. Her expression dimmed like a time lapse of a light bulb going out. Raph, looking at her in his left peripheral, only then realized a halo had halfway formed behind her head. It was dying out fast, now, faint and dull. He swallowed and fixed his gaze to the road. The Bentley began to lose speed.

They were driving around a corner. Raphael saw an dusty building and the car jolted to a halt from thirty. The cassette cut off.

Silent as the dead, Raphael began unbuckling his seatbelt. He’d be able to recognize this building no matter the circumstances. There was, after all, a staticky photograph in black-and-white hanging on the far wall of the study of when this building had first been established.

He strapped on the backpack carrier as Lucy got out of her seat and pulled it up. Sam staggered out. When Raphael lifted his own seat, Jay was calmly cradling The Baby. He nodded his thanks, reaching out for her, and Jay transferred their baby sister into his arms. He was totally mindful as he set The Baby into the carrier. Jay climbed out. Raphael and Lucy shut the doors.

A hand-painted sign hung above the door. It’d been put up in regency times. Dad had visited the day of to gift Pop with chocolates only to be intercepted by Gabriel and Sandalphon trying to bring Aziraphale back to Heaven with a promotion. Obviously, _that _hadn’t panned out, but it was the most well-told of the stories of this place on the corner.

The sign read _A. Z. Fell & Co. Bookshop. _The four of them stood just outside.

Lucy handed a pair of sunglasses to Raph. They were a bit dusty, but they looked like the kind Dad kept to wearing before he was born. The thirteen-year-old shoved them unceremoniously onto his face, and swayed.

Sam gripped onto Lucy’s hand. They took a long look at each other and then set off into the bookshop. Raphael was left on the sidewalk with his two youngest sisters.

The Baby began to wail. Raphael tenderly held the back of her head with his left hand and Jay took his right silently.

“You’re scared,” she observed.

“So are you,” he countered.

She looked up at him. Raphael continuously swayed left to right, wondering how the habit had implanted itself. Dad, probably.

Dad had always swayed to calm them. Dad swayed when he needed to self-calm. Raphael was part serpent.

“We need to go in there,” Jay said, voice dipping into concern. “Lucy and Sam are in there all alone.”

He was quiet for another moment, then took a deep breath. The Baby continued to sob against his chest. He lead Jay inside.

A bell above the door jingled cheerily. There was floorspace. The bookshelves were all pushed against walls, filled to the brim with books organized by the Dewey Decimal system, and all of them had barcode scanners on the bottoms of their spines. An older man with neatly combed hair and a sharp, new cream suit turned around from where he was shuffling books back into their correct spots. Aziraphale faced them briefly, nodding a hello with a merely polite smile, as if he hadn’t just greeted his own children for the first time in give or take two weeks.

“How may I help you?” Aziraphale asked. When he looked back at them all again, having put away his books, there was still a smile on his face, but no substance behind his blue-green eyes. His fluffy head of curls had been reduced to a neat sort of set-flat style. He looked too angular in the newly cut-and-tailored suit he was wearing—white button up, cream bowtie, white shoes.

It was surreal and it was _wrong. _Raphael saw Lucy’s eye twitched from where she and Sam had stopped just inside, and The Baby’s semi-tamed cries reared back into a full sob. He faltered, letting out an indistinguishable noise and turning on his heel to calm his sister again.

“We’re looking for a book,” Jay said with more confidence than all of them put together had.

Raphael hissed little hushes at The Baby almost desperately. Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully, bumbling about still, as if he couldn’t stay still.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Pop said. “Any specific book? By a certain author? In a particular genre, perhaps?”

He sounded too inhuman. He didn’t even _sound _like he was supposed to, his words too clean-cut and precise like how his suit was, none of the bashful stutter or the indignant pitched-high of when he was talking to a customer. Raph, having done as much as he could to calm his still-crying sister, turned back to watch the interactions unfold.

“A book of the prophecy genre,” Jay said.

Sam tapped her arm and signed, _Nice. _Then, after a confuddled hand gesture, the sign he used for _Anathema._

“Might you have _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch?” _the thirteen-year-old asked hopefully.

“Really, now.” Pop, or the _memory _of Pop, stood by the door to the backroom. Instead of Heavenly robes, he wore his most dressed-up outfit: a cream, pale blue, and khaki suit, old-fashioned and softened with age, and a bowtie with a tartan pattern which matched his own socks and Jay’s ascot. Dad stood beside him, leaned up against the doorjamb, a picture of the past with fashionably close-cropped hair and an ensemble of all-black.

“I’m afraid I don’t have that book, unfortunately,” Aziraphale said politely, hands folded in front of him, which… alright, _no._

_“That’s _what they did to me?” Pop asked, face twisted into disgust. “My dears, I’d never lie to you like _that. _If I’m not mistaken, that book is in the backroom as of the current moment.”

“I thought angels didn’t lie,” Raphael said, reaching up with the hand that wasn’t cradling The Baby’s head to tremulously remove Dad’s sunglasses, meeting Aziraphale’s eyes head on.

The cherub presence filled the bookshop like a physical substance. He smelled too sterile, too new, like the scent that’d clung to Jay when she was first Created, and maybe Raph, too, though he might not recall.

“Demon,” sneered Aziraphale.

“Don’t listen to him, Raphael,” Dad shouted over the swirling power of Aziraphale’s power, voice shaking and panicked. “You are not _just _a demon, my darling!”

Aziraphale began to advance toward him.

Raphael could hear the screams of his siblings, the stubborn force of Lucy, Sam’s silence molding into a wail, Jay’s sobbing retreat, and his youngest sister’s frantic cries. From the backroom door, Dad and Pop vanished. The memory of them clung to either side of Raph, just behind either shoulder.

_An angel and a demon on either shoulder, _he mused dizzily. _How ironic._

“Raphael, I don’t know what you plan on doing,” Pop said, voice gone shrill, “but you must do it _quickly, _now, my boy!”

A flaming sword unsheathed itself from the ether and Aziraphale brought it up, blank eyes alight with Heavenly fury that was not his own and had never been.

The flames passed over the side of Raph’s face as Aziraphale pulled it upward over his own head in an arc. With a defiant yell, Aziraphale brought it back down…

…and time stopped.

Raphael stood, hunched over The Baby and breathing heavily, and waited for a blow which didn’t come.

He looked up as he abruptly realized the screams had stopped. The Heavenly fire of the flaming sword crackled and popped like tinder. Lucy, Sam, and Jay were silent as terror struck them. The Baby babbled and whined quietly.

The whole world seemed to be muted.

“What did you do?” Lucy asked. Her voice was still and unwavering. When Raph passed his eyes over her again, he could see the stretched, disbelieving tension in her face, giving her away.

“He’s just come into his power,” a voice, buzzing and uneasy, said from behind them.

The Prince of Hell stood in the doorway ominously. They eyed each of them in turn, then faced Raphael again.

“You stopped time, for now,” they informed him. “Lilith and Satan sent me to keep an eye on you lot. I’d recommend taking that holy sword, Raphael.”

The way they said his name sent a shiver down his spine. It didn’t sound like his name was meant to be a human one. They made it sound as though his name were just as divine as when Dad had first been named it.

“Good idea,” he breathed, bringing both hands up to cradle The Baby in her backpack carrier as he turned back around. He faced Aziraphale—his Pop, from whom he was _Created—_and studied him for a few long moments which existed outside of time.

He reached up with one hand and pried the flaming sword out of an iron grip. The hilt felt right in his hand, the weight of it solid and even. Raphael didn’t like it.

“Alright, come now,” Beelzebub beckoned. “Let’s get you all back home, children.”

Lucy, Sam, and Jay stayed until Raphael gave them all a nod of approval. They exited the bookshop.

Raphael was glued to his spot, facing Pop, _studying _him.

There was the remnants of duck-egg blue on the cuticles of his nails. His ears, often with two shiny pearly bulbs, were naked, but the piercings in either lobe remained, yet to be redecorated. The golden ring on his pinky finger, once a medal of honor from Heaven, depicted a winged serpent wrapped about a staff.

Details overlooked could stay that way. Raphael nodded firmly to himself and turned, leaving the bookshop.

An hour later, Aziraphale fell forward, the space before him unoccupied, no flaming holy sword in his grip, and crushed a pair of sunglasses left in a fleeting moment of hurry on the carpet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feed me kudos!!! also next chapter is gonna be a bit :/  
I've got questions for you guys to answer in the comments:  
-what should The Baby be named?  
-what do you think is going to be so :/ in the next chapter??  
-who do you think might make an appearance in the next one???
> 
> thanks for reading!!


	11. dreams vs nightmares (iii)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We finally see what's happened to Crowley.
> 
> A flat is not a good place to have a battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: this chapter is pretty violent toward the halfway point. Read at your own risk.

Beelzebub lead them all the way back to the Bentley before they realized the sword of holy flames needed to be distinguished before they could do anything else.

They turned on their heel, facing Raph. Their eyes were unnervingly blue. “The fire. Put it out.”

“Huh?” he asked. He glanced down. “Oh. Uh. How?”

Sam darted forward, touched the hilt with a quizzical lift of his brows. Raphael offered it to him and watched as Sam hefted it in both hands. He raised it do it pointed vertically upward. The flames went out with a hiss. He handed it back to his big brother with a nod.

_Done, _he signed. _Car._

“Pop this on the floorboards back there, will you?” Raph called as Sam and Jay moved toward the backseats. Sam took the sword, unsurprisingly, and Jay held out her arms. Raph gave her The Baby after a solid five seconds, pushed the seat back, and got behind the wheel.

“Lucy, is it?” Beelzebub asked. Lucy glared up at them, arms crossed stubbornly. “Slide in next to your brother, I’ll sit on your other side.”

“You’re _stinky,” _Lucy hissed.

“I’m also your _cousin,” _the Prince of Hell hissed back. “Get in the car. We’re going back to Tadfield. Your aunt and uncle are waiting.”

And so, Lucy sat between Beelzebub and Raphael as the Bentley revved to life. The familiar thrumming of the bass to _Under Pressure _lead into the song. The Bentley backed out of the spot, and Raph readjusted deftly so he wasn’t overpowering the car’s own intuitive driving.

_Not Tadfield, _Raph thought glumly. _I’m not going back to Tadfield unless Dad and Pop are there._

_Pop is in Soho, _his own thoughts echoed back to him from earlier. _Dad is in Mayfair._

_Mayfair? _he repeated as he eyed the dashboard.

The Bentley swung a left, sped up, and turned right, decidedly _away _from Tadfield. Beelzebub yelped in shock, grabbing onto the seat and the dashboard to steady themself. Lucy was already raising her arms in delight as her twin brother lurched forward in the backseat.

“What in Hell’s name is this contraption _doing?” _Beelzebub screeched over the sound of Freddie Mercury and David Bowie singing. “Where is it taking us?”

The Bentley sped down a street, turned left down an alley, and turned right up a road. Raphael couldn’t help the mad laughter that broke free. Even The Baby was squealing in glee.

The Bentley swerved into an alley beside a modern flat building—industrial, clean-cut, dark and sterile—and abruptly shut off. The silence that filled the car was stifling. A sense of foreboding kept Raphael in his seat, his hands clenched white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

“Where are we?” Lucy asked into the stillness. She glanced around with ramping panic.

“Mayfair,” Jay said dazedly. The Baby whined quietly. “This is where Dad used to live.”

“Yes,” Raphael confirmed, unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out. Lucy passed up the backpack carrier when he reached for it. “It’s also where I was born.”

~*~

Raphael got all the way into the building before he realized he hadn’t the slightest inkling of where he was going.

He stopped in the hallway.

“Are you alright?” Beelzebub asked, just over his shoulder. “You’re swaying. Would you like me to carry your sister, darling?”

A jolt ran up his spine. “Don’t,” he said hastily, bringing shaking hands to cradle The Baby—he needed to change her nappy fairly soon, or else he’d be in deep trouble with trying to help a rash. He hunched around her for a long moment, taking a deep breath. “Don’t call me that, _please.” _His voice cracked. “That’s… Nobody gets to call me that.”

“Up the stairs.” Dad appeared, arms crossed and eyes exposed and leaving it glaringly obvious how upset, how _torn _he looked. “The very next landing up, then to the hall down the right. You’ll know which is mine.”

Raphael followed the memory of Dad up the stairs. Down the hall to the right, facing a very unextraordinary door, was Pop. He stared anxiously, one hand clenching and unclenching at his side, the other clutching his chest at the spot where his heart would be.

“Crowley, my dear,” he called. “The children don’t need to see this. I removed us from the equation specifically so they wouldn’t have to.”

“This one,” Raphael said, stopping beside where his extended memories had, where Dad had bravely grabbed onto the hand at Pop’s side and waited with eyes on their firstborn. “Dad’s in here.”

Sam waved both hands, catching Raph’s attention. _G-A-B-R…_

He huffed in frustration, then signed, _Angel?_

“You’re asking whether the archangels are here?” Raphael waited for Sam to nod confirmation. “They shouldn’t be, I don’t think… Beelzebub, do you sense them?”

The Prince of Hell waited a beat before they replied, “They aren’t.”

Raph lead the charge inside.

~*~

Beelzebub had always been at least a little bit jealous of Crowley.

He was the _true _first in line to the throne. They’d gotten his leftovers, the only thing he _hadn’t _wanted. If it weren’t for him, they wouldn’t be Hell’s prince. Then there was the matter of his wings—kept intact after the Fall. Most weren’t as lucky. Beelzebub themself had lost one upon landing in Hell by landing on it and, thus, crushing it. Crowley was exceptionally lucky. He’d managed to keep, sustain, and build on powers he’d had before Falling, and he had a big, beautiful family, and his looks were sought after and cherished. His _hair, _especially, was a source of envy for Beelzebub.

Long, luxurious silken red locks that ran probably toward his waist nowadays. Beelzebub could barely manage their bold bob of thick, charred black hair.

It only made sense that Crowley’s luck would run out. As Beelzebub followed Raphael into the Mayfair flat, they couldn’t help but sense the _misery _that lied here, just beneath the joy of having a child from so long ago, beneath the relief of a failed End of Times, beneath All That Was Good.

And as they stepped around Raphael, who’d frozen at the end of the hallway, they could feel no jealousy toward Crowley, not anymore.

The only light which illuminated the living room was the cold light from the hall between there and what must’ve been an office once. It slanted across the demon, made him gaunter than was reality. He sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, thick swaths of gorgeous red locks on the floor around his feet. His mouth was agape. His eyes were wide, unseeing, empty but for total and overwhelming _terror. _There was a darkened patch on the soft grey tee shirt he wore, just beneath the ribcage.

Crowley sat on a tiny stool in the cold, candid light that glanced into the living room, his once-long hair shorn closer to the scalp than it’d ever been before.

“Oh, stars,” Jay murmured, seizing forward to dart into the living room, stopping short of the piles of hair. “Daddy… Daddy, look, we’re here, we…” Her voice broke into a soft sob.

“That’s not Daddy,” Lucy breathed. She sounded deeply disturbed, breathless. Beelzebub looked over their shoulder and saw the eleven-year-old gripping onto her twin for dear life, shaking her head adamantly as she backed away. Sam was already averting his eyes, one hand coming to cup around his mouth. “It’s not. It’s not him.”

Silence.

“Daddy, _please,” _Jay sobbed. “Please, are you in there? You _must _do. You _have _to be in there, _please, _I. _Please…”_

“He can’t hear you,” Beelzebub said grimly. “He can’t hear… _any _of uzzz.”

It was only logic. The archangels would’ve erased the children from his mind already.

Jay let out a screaming wail, which failed to set off The Baby, and Beelzebub bent over at the waist to hold her when she wrapped herself around them. Soft footsteps, clicking as the heel came down, echoed a whisper as Raphael walked around Beelzebub to stand before his dad.

As they watched, the boy removed The Baby from her backpack carrier and took a seat five feet in front of Crowley’s stool. A changing mat rolled out before Raphael, and he laid his sister down on it. A nappy, talcum powder, wipes, and rash cream manifested to the side of the mat. Without a word, Raph undressed The Baby and removed her used nappy, banishing into nonexistence.

He wiped her, cautiously rubbed the rash cream into her thighs, and sprinkled the talcum powder before putting the new nappy on her. When he redressed her, the infant’s onesie had changed from purple to white, and her tights had changed from black with stars to blue with ducks. Raphael waved a hand and the backpack carrier and changing mat and supplies vanished. He held The Baby close to his chest. A simple white blanket appeared over one of his shoulders.

“We need to try to get through to him,” came a small voice Beelzebub hadn’t heard before.

Lucy had come back into the doorway, hanging on tightly to the doorframe, and a scaled halo wrapped around her head. The tiny snake flicked his tongue. Sam’s rare-used voice rang true.

“How many other ways could we try?” they asked, determination unfolding in their chest. “Maybe all of you at once, maybe… a summoning circle?” They shook your head. It wouldn’t do anything to override the two archangels, and Crowley was already here. No ideas would come. This place was muted, and it was draining their own power.

“Enochian,” Jay managed, voice quaking. “Pop— He told me ab-about it.”

Beelzebub patted her head reassuringly, and swallowed. Their Enochian tongue was fairly unused, but it would be as clean and aching as the day they Fell. _“Demon Crowley,” _they said, laying on all the order they could.

They waited. A light burned from inside Crowley’s closed mouth, as though his own Enochian tongue was pulling a knee-jerk reaction, and his nose started oozing blood.

The three younger kids shied away again in varying degrees of terror. Raphael took a halting step closer.

Beelzebub was very suddenly aware of the power Raph was exuding and the slow decline of Crowley’s own power. And it wasn’t that Raphael was _taking _the power willingly, not like the easy exchange Crowley and Aziraphale had slipped into, no… Crowley was feeding power through to his son.

To his son and, extendedly, his newborn daughter.

“You feel that?” Beelzebub asked into the silence.

Raphael glanced over his shoulder at them. His blue-green eyes were going lighter and lighter by the second, and there was a faint glow about him, as though illuminated from the inside-out.

“I think I do,” he answered, voice low and rough.

Crowley’s fingers twitched.

~*~

Dad’s memories decorated the flat like anything else anyone would ever have.

Just over his dad’s physical shoulder, Raphael could see the only version of Pop in this whole place— Crowley at the kitchen counter, looking back with a wink at Aziraphale, who sat and stared dreamily at the kitchen island. A flash of light, haunting, beautiful, and then a baby’s wail—

_His own wail._

Dad was giving him power. The relinquishment, the giving up, the defeat. Raphael watched Creation and felt Destruction, and missed the twitch of fingers long unmoved, and the end thought…

_Stop._

The light did not fade.

_The light wasn’t fading._

“Get out,” he murmured like a man possessed, eyes wide and pupils needle-thin. When no move accompanied it, he barked: “Get _out! _Get out, now, _please, _GET OUT!”

The end thought. Gabriel and Michael materialized in the kitchen, and Beelzebub hunched further behind Raphael’s back, and Lucy’s footsteps rang all the way down the hallway, even while Sam screeched his protest with a voice he didn’t like.

“Raphael,” Gabriel said, violet eyes shining with a cold mirth. He smiled, and it looked _vile. _“So nice to see you, nephew.”

Michael nodded, her hands folded neatly before her, and it didn’t hide how gentle she _couldn’t _be. “A nice, proper family reunion, is it not? Even though you’re still _desperately _hanging on to what little unholiness remains with you.” Her eyes travelled downward, away from his face, her eyebrows rising elegantly as she pointedly eyed The Baby. Raphael stiffened, hunching over her tighter. “Oh, how sweet. Big brothers _still _think they’re able to protect their little sisters.”

A twitch. Recognizable, now. Cognizant. Barely understandable, halting, faltering.

_Run, _Dad signed.

Raphael could’ve cried in relief. He firmed up his stance, squared his shoulders, locked his jaw. He faced the archangels head on.

“Face it,” Gabriel sneered. “You’re _above _them, now. You could come with us, be accepted in the eyes of God. Wouldn’t that be a relief? A _mercy, _after all you’ve been through.”

“I take care of my own,” Raphael answered, swaying, relishing when The Baby grasped onto his shirt with a meaty little fist. “I’m happy where I am. I don’t _need _mercy, Gabriel. All I need, all I’ve _ever _needed, is my family.”

“Then let’s _bring _them, shall we?” Gabriel growled.

Marching footsteps were lead up the hall, and Lucy was yelling again, but Raph couldn’t hear Sam. Leading the charge, looking hot under the collar as two more angels dragged Lucy and Sam back into the flat, was Aziraphale. The angels, at Aziraphale’s word, threw the twins down beside Beelzebub and restrained the Prince of Hell.

“Awaiting orders, sir,” Aziraphale said, standing eagerly at attention.

“At ease, Aziraphale,” Michael ordered.

“Well?” Gabriel said, gesturing widely. “The family’s all here. What have you got to say? Do you feel _fulfilled _yet?”

_“Not,” _Jay squeaked.

Raphael watched the Messenger’s face morph into a more vile sneer. “What, little girl?”

“The family’s _not _all here,” Jay spoke out, angry and upset and _sick. _Raphael would offer her a hand if he had one free. “Not the _whole _one. For one, we’re missing Lucifer and Lilith. Then there’s also Adam, Pepper, Brian, and Wensley, and even Dog. And Anathema and Newton, also. If we intend for _extended _family, well…”

“Shut her up,” Michael ordered.

Aziraphale grabbed Jay up into his arms none too gently and clamped a hand over Jay’s mouth. Raphael witnessed as Jay writhed, horror drawing his face in. On the floor, Lucy groaned. Sam scooted carefully toward Aziraphale.

Sam grasped Aziraphale’s ankle and then transformed.

Jay dropped from the cherub’s grip as Sam’s jaw unhinged and he bit into Aziraphale’s ankle, _hard._

Everything happened in slow motion.

Raphael was struck in the back of the head. His eyesight went terrifyingly white for all of a moment as he fell to his knees. The Baby came loose from his grasp. A scream rang out.

Dad was knelt on the floor, almost on all fours, hunched completely and protectively over The Baby. He was panting heavily, eyes wide, shoulders shaking. The flat was deadly silence.

“No child,” he said tremulously, drawing his knees up so he could plant one foot firmly on the ground, “gets hurt… on _my _watch.” He stood defiantly, and faced the archangels. “Leave. _Before I get angry.”_

Raphael felt the fever he’d grown used to chill as the temperature dropped. Gabriel and Michael both looked shocked, possibly scared, but…

One of the angel guards was missing a sword from their scabbard. Lucy was bringing herself onto her feet, finally, reaching to scoop Sam up off the floor, and _where had Aziraphale gone?_

A flaming sword came down on Dad’s back, and Raphael went to yell, but a pallid man with matted white hair and blackened eyes interceded the charge.

The man was a demon. It was the only reason Aziraphale’s own holy sword was making his hands smoke at the hilt.

Jay grabbed onto Raphael’s jacket sleeve and the back of Dad’s shirt and pulled as hard as she possibly could, putting them both out of the line of fire. Dad staggered backward, grip never loosening an ounce on The Baby as he fell onto his backside and took Jay and Raph with him. Raph watched as Sam pushed himself back up, mouth painted red and hair mussed with sweat, feeling his heart tug hard in his chest, and the angel guard with his sword unsheathed it and put it against Beelzebub’s throat in warning.

Sam, despite the warning, grabbed Lucy’s hand and dashed toward the rest of them, keeping low to the ground to avoid getting slashed as Aziraphale and the demon battled.

Dad had yet to realize he was the magnet keeping the four of them near to him. He _had _realized, however, _all of what was happening around himself._

“Hastur, do _not _kill him!” he ordered, standing again, The Baby close at his shoulder. Lucy, in a dazed panic, reached up and grabbed onto Dad’s shirttail. “Do _not! _If he dies, they get him, game over!”

Sam, in a move Raph didn’t understand, kicked his leg out and knocked the stool sideways.

Only a moment later, Aziraphale was being walked backward. Unable to look back, he had now way of knowing he was walking right into the sideways stool. He tripped backward, arms pinwheeling, the sword coming free of his grip. Sam grabbed it up before either of the angel guards had a chance, hopping the back of a flat black sofa to—

Sam, gentle and soft; Sam, who cried that first night alone; Sam, who took cat naps in the sunlight with Dad. Sam raised the sword and slashed it downward, through Michael’s left shoulder and out Gabriel’s right hip.

The sword fell with a clatter, and Sam followed it to vomit blood and venom.

“Sammy!” Lucy called, scrambling up to go to her brother.

Aziraphale was at a loss, his own holy sword poised to stab him through the throat, even as Hastur scowled threateningly down at him, hands steaming on the hilt.

Raphael stood, and followed her. He bent to pick up the sword, and… the wallet, half sliced through, lying on the floor. He raised the sword, levelling it at the angel guards. “Leave with your lives while you still have them. If you ever try to hurt my family again, you know what awaits you.”

The angels stared him down for a few moments longer, or rather _he _stared _them _down, and they drew away from Beelzebub. They faded out. Beelzebub rushed over the flat sofa, picking Sam up and leading him and Lucy back toward the showdown.

“Crowley,” they greeted, voice hoarse.

“Lord Beelzebub,” he answered. “Where are we going now?”

“With him like this?” Hastur raised an eyebrow at Crowley, nodding at Aziraphale. “Not safe around humans. We need to go back Downstairs.”

“Hate to admit he’s right,” the Prince of Hell said. They raised their hands, spoke a word untranslatable from Enochian, and a void glowed around them all. “Take us back.”

A portal opened in the floor, and Hell swallowed them up in a bellow of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and kudos are appreciated. come find me on tumblr at @spaacey-ace2022


	12. awake, awake (the coming of light)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children are formally introduced to Hell, and then promptly come into their power.
> 
> Alternatively: Crowley doesn't remember, and Aziraphale definitely doesn't remember, but it's all about the trying, isn't it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: verbal abuse (though Aziraphale learns why this is bad of him before the end of the chapter), and more amnesia :/

Beelzebub transported them all directly to the royal chambers.

Lilith and Lucifer looked startled to see them, but happy nonetheless. Lilith came to check up on each of the children immediately, stopping before the twins to gingerly wipe away Sam’s tears and, with a wave of her hand, the younger twin’s mouth was no longer red with blood.

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Aziraphale said stubbornly, “but I don’t think Heaven will take very kindly to an act of such violence as _dragging an angel into Hell.”_

Raphael shuddered. Lucifer, who’d been taking reports from Beelzebub, looked up. Lilith gathered the twins and Jay into her arms and stepped away from Aziraphale carefully.

“Duke Hastur,” she said, putting the children farther away before stepping up to the demon with an outstretched hand, “give me the sword. It won’t hurt me as it does you. My love, would you heal this brave demon’s hands?”

“Of course,” Lucifer acquiesced. Lilith traded places with Hastur and the King of Hell fully healed Hastur’s hands with a wave. “Raphael, what happened?”

Raph swallowed. “I don’t think they remember anything,” he said. He briefly watched Dad, who’d stopped all sort of movement in calming The Baby, then watched Aziraphale with a keen eye. “Dad only woke up because I was there, but I don’t know if it’s because of the…” He gestured at his own head, averting his serpentine eyes. “…and Pop is still under Heaven’s control, which is why we brought him down unwillingly.”

“This baby, then,” Dad spoke up, voice rasping as he coddled The Baby still as closely as he had before. “This isn’t my…?”

“She _is _yours,” Jay insisted, voice wobbling. “Look at her, just _look _at her. She’s yours _most _of all.”

Dad looked at her for the first time since waking up, well and truly. He stared for a long while at Jay, then to Sam weeping and Lucy right there beside him, looked down at the glistening amber eyes of The Baby, and then up at Raphael. His gaze caught for all of a few moments, and then slid past in a haziness Raph recognized—of _this really happened, _of _I never believed it would turn out like this, _of _this is mine now._

Most of all, it was the sort of look Raphael knew as a calling, a reaching. Right now, what Dad _wasn’t _saying was this: _angel._

“What are _you _looking at, you filthy, empty-headed _demon?” _Aziraphale spat.

Lilith pressed the sword tighter into his throat, and pushed him back, toward the wall. When she successfully had him pinned, she stepped away. A wall of golden light separated Aziraphale from the rest of the room, then faded into a thin golden film, like thin plastic.

“He’s not under his own control,” she said. “I’m sorry, Crowley.”

Dad said nothing, eyes alight with fear and loss and determination, reflective with tears, lip quavering. He simply walked until he was a yard away from the wall, and sat on the clean black tile.

“Get _away _from me,” Aziraphale sneered petulantly.

“Bold words from someone in a cage, angel,” Crowley answered, voice airy and dreamy as he stared up at his angel with wide, unblinking eyes.

It broke Jay, hearing that from him. She fled from Lilith and Lucifer’s protective overbearing and dropped like a stone beside Crowley, face red and blotched, tears streaming heartily down her face as she sniveled. Raphael couldn’t help the tremor that started up in his hands as the memories of his parents appeared, just away from Aziraphale’s holding, arm in arm, staring longingly in from the other side.

Aziraphale’s spine straightened, eyes going wide, face falling slack. “Who just _summoned _a memory?” he demanded.

Sam cowered behind his sister. “Don’t know what you mean,” Lucy said snottily, even as Raphael tried to tamp down on the figments of his parents.

“Don’t fight us,” Pop said, and his voice had taken on a strange echoing quality. “He needs to know we’re here.”

Aziraphale flinched, wincing as he covered his ears. He scowled. “You _stupid _girl. I know _all _of you heard _that _loud and clear.”

“None of us are fully angels,” Lucifer said, deadpan. “Whatever sonic memory you just heard, nobody here could hear it.”

“Yeah, angel,” Dad’s memory said with the same echo, smiling slyly. “We’re gonna drive you _mad _until you put us back.”

Aziraphale groaned, clutching at his head now. “Quit it. Quit it, _now!”_

“Raphael,” Lilith called.

Raph looked away from his parents—the memories and their corporations, separated. “I’m not doin’ anything,” he said automatically. “I don’t control what they do.”

Aziraphale hissed a seething breath, and Raph found himself caught in his pop’s icy gaze. “You mean… _you’re _doing this? _You _summoned these… _ridiculous _wraiths?”

Sam unclasped his hands where they’d been pressed together at the center of his chest and signed: something simple, uncomplicated, that Aziraphale clearly knew even now. _Stupid._

Raphael was beckoned by Lucifer into his office before he heard Aziraphale’s indignant reply.

~*~

Aziraphale and Crowley would stay in the royal chambers tomorrow, and Raphael and his siblings would be introduced before Hell as their High Dukes and Duchesses.

Upon re-entering the living room, Raph gathered his siblings—as stubborn as Dad was to let go of The Baby, and Jay to leave Dad’s side—and perched on the sofa. Aziraphale watched them with glaring eyes and scowling lips. Dad carefully turned so he had one gold eye on his children and the other on his husband.

“Tomorrow, we’ll be introduced as Hell’s highest ranking royalty beneath Beelzebub,” Raphael explained quietly. “High Dukes and Duchesses.”

“Even…?” Lucy left the question hang open as she looked down at The Baby. She glanced back up, mouth ajar. Her eyes went wide, and something strange happened with her pupils: her blue eye’s pupil went wide, then her golden eye’s went pinpricked like a snakes. It was there and gone in a moment flat.

She’s just realized something. Like seeing something that’s been sitting right in front of her the whole time.

Raph could take a guess.

Sam waved his hands meekly. _Find, _he signed, slow and shaky. Then, after a moment’s contemplation, as though trying to recall, _name._

_Find a name, _he was saying.

“She doesn’t have a name?” Beelzebub asked from behind the sofa.

“No, they, ah…” Raphael decidedly didn’t look at his fathers, but it didn’t quite work. He caught Aziraphale’s gaze out of the corner of his eye, harsh and cold and completely not there. “Dad had just woken up. There wasn’t any time before Heaven took them both. Only barely enough for Dad to have gotten her into a nappy and us out of the house.”

“And she hasn’t had a name this whole time?” Hastur asked. He sounded surprisingly grief-ridden, looked hateful and angry, but he sounded so full of sorrow. “How long’s it been since it happened?”

Raphael had to take a moment. He was eternally glad that the fever had cleared up immediately upon Dad’s awakening; his head was much clearer. Still, being that his mental state had been half absent during most of the time between then and now, it was tricky to recall. He cleared his throat, his mouth slipping open at how much time had simply _passed, _how much time had been wasted, all the progress the archangels had made in tearing their parents apart, in tearing _them _apart.

“Three and a half weeks,” he admitted mutedly, staring down at The Baby. “They were taken twenty-five days ago.”

All was silent for a moment before Dad spoke up from his spot cross-legged on the floor. “Who?” He looked between the kids and then Aziraphale expectantly, as though the angel could give him the answer. “Who was taken?”

Sam averted his gaze. Lucy looked stubbornly away in a manner similar but, at once, completely different than her twin. Raphael cradled The Baby tighter to his chest and rocked her gently. Jay looked at Dad for a few despairingly long beats of quiet.

“Daddy and Papa,” she said. She pressed a hand into the large pocket of Dad’s dark hoodie she was still wearing and it emerged with a palm-sized book, bound in a black cover. When she turned it to its front, it was revealed to have a constellation on the front. Jay opened it up. From his vantage point, Raph read, _Starmaker _on the inside cover. “Gabriel and Michael took our Daddy and Papa.”

“Stop that right now,” Aziraphale growled suddenly. Raphael looked up fully, finally, to see the cherub pressed up against the trap circle. “You’re _lying, _you foolish little girl. You and your brothers and sisters, the whole _lot _of you, _demon-spawn. _Foul and lying _fiends.”_

“Speak like that to my nieces and nephews again and I _will_ cast you into silence,” Lucifer barked.

Aziraphale gave the King of Hell a mocking sneer, but dared not say more.

“The plants must be dying,” Jay said. She smoothed a hand over a page in her journal. “The inside ones, at least. Some of the food’s gone bad. Our milk probably curdled.”

_Dust, _Sam signed solemnly. _Everything. Dust._

Raphael didn’t have to ask what Sam meant by that. The house, when they’d returned just this morning (and wasn't _that _a thought; _this morning _felt as though it'd been _eons _ago), had been coated in a thin layer of dust that never would’ve happened otherwise. Pop cleaned like a madman on Fridays, usually when they were all at school, and Dad would go about behind him, switching out the tasks evenly and working in a sync even the twins could rarely achieve.

“We have to figure out how to decorate The Baby’s room,” Lucy piped up. “Where she’ll room, too.”

“With me,” Raphael said immediately. He rolled his shoulders, tried to release the sudden tension, but it wouldn’t escape him. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes against the migraine pressure building up, and swayed.

“I think it’s about time you kids got washed up and put to bed,” Lilith suggested.

Dad made to stand as Raphael tailed his siblings into the hallway. The Baby was beginning to cry again, meager whines turning into broken wails, and Raph was stopped by a gentle, too-thin hand on his shoulder. He stared up at Dad as he brought up his other hand. Between his fingers dangled a bit of blue and white plastic.

A dummy. Dad was offering a dummy.

Raphael swayed, but supported The Baby’s head a bit more. Dad carefully inserted the pacifier into the infant’s open mouth, and she stopped sobbing. Raphael watched in awe as The Baby sucked eagerly on the dummy, eyes slipping closed, going relaxed. Her tiny fists twitched.

A cold hand slipped onto Raph’s cheek. Dad ducked down, briefly, and laid chapped lips on his forehead.

“Good night, my darling,” he said, golden eyes dim but containing something too akin to _nearness_ to be mistaken.

Raphael ignored the burning in his eyes, turned about, and hurried after his little brother and sisters.

~*~

The robes were… _expected, _yes, but not exactly _pleasant._

Raphael and his siblings were ushered forward, out into the grand hall. The process of getting draped in fine silk robes and having circlets of gold and gems placed atop their heads was easier to bear with Lilith and Lucifer leading the charge. Raphael, at least, knew the twins were comfortable when their aunt entered the room, already fully decked out in her royal robes. From the brief sounds of it he’d heard, they’d been having a fearsome argument—it didn’t happen very often with them, but it’d escalated to near throwing things.

Lucifer stopped in, half dressed, robes askew, with the one thing Raph didn’t know they were missing: a tiny ceremonial robe for The Baby.

“I’ve got it all handled,” Raphael insisted, even as Lucifer picked the robe up from where it settled on Raph’s shoulders. “Look, no, focus on yourself, I’ve got it.”

“It’s on backwards, silly thing,” Lucifer said, turning it the right way before resettling it to drape across Raph’s shoulders, and _oh—_

It _did _look just that touch of _right _Raphael had been missing up until now.

In the pale lights of Hell, Raphael’s hair looked infinitely lighter, a hue of soft pinkish-red he’d never quite grown out of. The robes were a pale blue that matched Pop’s eyes, tinted with golden and cream. Lucifer straightened his own robes, and they fell regally on him, unlike the boyish awkwardness Raphael still harbored.

There was something, on the back of the robes, which Raphael hadn’t seen before, and couldn’t glimpse in the mirror.

“What’s that?” he asked, twisting this way and that but unable to manage it.

Lucifer smiled, placed his hands on Raphael’s shoulders, and smoothed gentle thumbs down the thirteen-year-old’s shoulder blades. He had a fond gleam in his eye which was usually reserved for babies and young, happy children.

“The robes you and your siblings have been given,” the King of Hell explained, “adapt to _you. _The moment you put this on correctly, your wings showed up on the back.”

_Wings. _Raphael stared at his pale, shocked reflection for a long, long moment. He hadn’t had _wings _before, but… but then, before Pop and Dad were taken, Sam couldn’t morph into a snake, and he and Lucy hadn’t been able to keenly _sense _memories, and Jay couldn’t look with the Healer’s Sight. Before Dad and Pop were abducted, Raphael was yet to come unto his own power, and The Baby had not been Created.

Lucifer placed a circlet of gold atop his head. It was curved intricately, a thin, strong wire of gleaming metal with a single blue jewel in its epicenter.

“Come,” he said, one hand on Raph’s back now as they shuffled toward the door. “The Hall will come together soon.”

~*~

The Grand Hall did, indeed, have that name for a reason.

Jay felt a bit squirrelly, but that was a given for more recent days. This morning just happened to be different because now she and her older siblings were waiting in a semi-dark, crowded hall about to be shown off to a crowd of bustling demons, and Sam and Lucy still shot each other angry signs from either side of Lilith, and Raphael was very still, and very silent, and just so happened to _also _be trembling head to toe.

Beelzebub shouldered past, and Hastur followed them close behind. Jay watched as they lead the duke out onto the floor of the Grand Hall.

“Hail Satan!” Beelzebub called, and the murmurs quieted.

_“HAIL SATAN!” _the crowd roared back and, _stars, _Jay was feeling dizzy.

That was a _lot _of demons. A _very _lot.

Muffled, hurried footsteps echoed up the dark tunnel, toward them. Jay felt something in her stomach drop.

“Lucifer!” Dad called, voice still hoarse and halting.

“What is it, little brother?” Lucifer answered primly. He’d previously been whispering in Raph’s ear about something or other as her brother swayed side to side, rocking The Baby.

“You all left without saying anything, I just…” Dad stammered for a few moments, hands jerking. He was too still, even now. Jay didn’t like it. “Didn’t know I’d fallen asleep, woke up, nobody was there. Where’s my baby?”

“Right here,” Raphael responded uneasily, sounding choked.

Dad let out a small sound, like a squeak, a _tremor _of a noise, as he rushed forward on socked feet and scooped up The Baby. He cradled her close, swaying her as Raph had, and pressed careful kisses onto her face.

Jay turned away. She shivered as she listened to Beelzebub.

“The Duke Hastur displayed a mighty courage in defending myself and other members of the royal family,” the Prince of Hell announced. “He willingly held a holy sword, even as it burnt him. For his bravery and his sense of justice, the King and Queen have hereby named him the General of the Legions of the Damned. His quick thinking and fighting skill are unparalleled. He was unbeaten in a match with a holy cherub. Let’s have a round of applause for General Hastur.”

An uproarious cheer erupted from the crowd of demons. Lilith leaned down to murmur something into Sam’s ear, and then turned and delivered something unto Lucy, as well.

Jay jumped when a hand landed on her shoulder, cold and long and slender.

A smacking kiss landed on her forehead. She barely had time to register Dad pulling away and moving on to the twins: landing a kiss beside Sam’s right eye and another beside Lucy’s left. Then he flitted around to Raphael, who held The Baby again, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I don’t…” He faltered, golden eyes bright and shimmering as he looked at all of them in turn. “I don’t remember all of you. I don’t know what all’s happened in the time I managed to lose, but I _will _fix this. Me and Aziraphale will fix this. It’s how we’ve always done, yeah?” He looked at Lucifer, who nodded with a heartfelt smile, and then nodded his own head once in self-affirmation. “Yeah. Okay. Good luck at your ceremony. I’ll see you when you get back.”

With nothing else to say, Dad turned and fled down the corridor.

“Without further adieu,” Beelzebub was saying, and Jay felt herself shaking to her very core with something too new and too aching and raw, “here are your King and Queen of Hell.”

“Come, children,” Lilith said. Sam moved to stand beside Lucy, finally, and gripped her hand tight. Lucy didn’t look at him, too stubborn for her own good, but Jay knew she was squeezing Sam’s hand back. Raphael came beside her, nudging her with his free hand as he bounced The Baby with the other.

Jay stood sandwiched between Lilith and Raphael and, as they began to walk, as Lucifer lead the way up a short flight of stairs and stopped them in a doorway, as Lilith and Lucifer told them to wait there and went out of view to join Beelzebub on the dais, Jay felt as though they were about to be marched to a pile of driftwood and tied to stakes.

In an effort to conceal her panic, Jay summoned… _something. _A golden light filtered around them, washing her in a warmth not unlike Papa’s embrace.

“Jay!” Raph hissed, eyes wide. His face was awash in gentle gold light. It made him look more like himself than he’d looked for too long. “How’d you do that?”

She looked at her brother, then at the twins. The Baby cooed around her dummy, waving tiny fists excitedly.

“How’d I do what?” she whispered.

Sam waved his hands, eyes frantic, and fumbled for a word he didn’t quite know, half-forgotten on his fingertips. Then, after a long moment, he signed, _Light. Angel. Head._

“Halo?” Jay suggested.

_Yes, _Sam confirmed. He did the three signs again in another order: _angel-head-light. Yes._

“Put it away,” Lucy grumbled. “We’re in Hell, what’ll they think if you come out like that?”

“So we introduce to you, with great pleasure,” Lucifer boomed, regal and unholy as he gestured to the four of them waiting in the wings, “the archdukes and archduchesses of Hell!”

A beat. Jay shut her eyes, clenched her fists, and held her breath. She tried to vanish her halo, but it…

_Poor dear, _she heard Papa say somewhere in the ether. _Can’t quite manage it, can she? Oh…_

Three eyes opened which Jay hadn’t had a moment before. She felt too light and too heavy all at once, everything coming down, crushing her, _she couldn’t breathe, _and then—

And then the light blinked out like a light switch being flicked, and she opened two blue eyes.

“Let’s go,” Raphael said shakily.

They walked out onto the dais. Jay held hands with Raph and Sam, tried to keep her chin up, but she ended up staring down the whole way out. The demons cheering and whistling were muted.

“Archduke Raphael,” Lilith introduced, standing just beside him. She called him something in a language Jay didn’t recognize and then moved gracefully behind the twins. “Archduchess Lucy and Archduke Samael, named after your King.” She smiled, also calling them something in that strange language before coming behind Jay and squeezing her shoulders. “Archduchess Jay.” She spoke something in that language again, and this time Jay could make out what Lilith was saying, could recognize the language she spoke.

All it took was context. Lilith had said _Starmaker _at the end of that title.

Lilith had named Raphael _the First Unfallen Demon, _had called Lucy _the Snake Charmer _and Sam _One Who Speaks With A Serpent’s Tongue and Wields An Angel’s Sword. _Lilith had named Jay _the New Healer, Child of the Starmaker._

_“Thank you, my Queen,” _Jay said primly in pre-Enochian, the language of the Fallen.

The demons broke into a hushed murmur. Beelzebub leaned forward to look at Jay from around Lucifer, who smiled a bit smugly. Lilith lit up with the revelation of Jay knowing this language.

“Very good,” Lilith praised privately. “They like you already.”

Lilith moved on, stood before Raphael. Raphael passed her The Baby. Jay refocused her ears unto pre-Enochian, and listened to her aunt announce The Baby’s presence.

“The youngest archduchess,” the Queen of Hell said, “has yet to be named by her parents. However, the King and I have talked, and confirmed with her father.”

Lilith held out one hand and Lucifer came, brought her knuckles up to kiss, and held it. She passed The Baby to him.

_“Youngest Archduchess,” _Lucifer spoke, voice booming without so much as any effort, loud but gentle. _“Child of the Roses and Rain.”_

Jay held her breath. No great clap of thunder. No flash of light. Just a simple stinging prick in her chest, like getting her finger pinched for blood. She wondered what it would’ve been like had _she _been named in pre-Enochian before being named in English. If even being named in regular English had been like this.

_Child of the Roses? _an echo of Papa’s voice asked incredulously. _Really, my dear? And why rain?_

_Last things I recall before, angel, _responded Dad, and Jay’s heartbeat sped, if only a little. _There were clouds building on the horizon, and my rosebushes behind Raphael. I think that still stuck with me even without the memory… Details, you know._

The demons were bowing now. Jay blinked in shock. How much had she missed? When had they started to bow?

Hastur came around from the side of the dais, and kneeled before them. He had a new scabbard attached to his waist that he hadn’t had before, and he was holding the sword. Jay could see her reflection in the black material of the blade.

“HAIL THE ARCHDUKES AND ARCHDUCHESSES OF HELL!” Hastur shouted.

_“HAIL THE ARCHDUKES AND ARCHDUCHESSES OF HELL!” _all of Hell repeated.

Jay could feel all their voices echo in her chest. She shuddered at the sudden onslaught of… What _was _it? It was on the tip of her tongue, the tips of her _fingers, _this strange feeling, like a burning tingling, like instinct, like Daddy’s kiss on her head, memories dancing in the Grand Hall in shadowed silhouettes…

_Power. _The demons of Hell had risen in a chant, and Lucifer had taken center stage, raising both arms up as the chants rose in volume, a staccato that synced to Jay’s heartbeat, _“HAIL! HAIL! HAIL!”_

Every single demon in Hell was hailing them, _worshipping _the five of them. Something in Raphael’s eyes ticked on that had been missing before. Sam’s face went pink. Lucy grinned a snarl worthy of the demons praising them. Jay shivered.

The chants ceased when Lucifer dropped his arms. Hastur stood, sheathed his blade, and bowed his head one last time before them before going back to the edge of the dais.

It happened so quickly after that. Jay must’ve been high on adrenaline, or maybe the power of _belief _flooding her veins. One thing to the next, it was; she didn’t even recall the walk back into royal quarters. She just blinked and then a hand on her shoulder was ushering her into the threshold.

Jay stopped. Dad was sitting on a cushion on the floor before Papa’s holding circle, a soft blanket draped over his shoulders, and Papa was sitting mirroring him. Upon seeing everyone entering the quarters, Pop bolted into standing and turned away, crossing his arms huffily. Daddy wilted a little, placing his chin in his hand and tracing a finger on his free hand against the dark tile floor.

“I take it your day’s gone well, then?” Lilith said drily. She was staring at Daddy, but Jay knew she was talking to Papa.

“I’ve no obligation to talk to any _demons,” _Pop spat.

“I am no demon,” Lilith scoffed, but argued no more.

She bent down and unfastened all their shoes. They were kind of like ballet flats for Jay and Lucy, and Sam and Raph’s shoes had buttons on the inside. Jay padded toward her dad and made a valiant attempt to sit down beside him, but Lucifer picked her up and whorled her away before she could reach him.

“Robes first,” Lucifer said softly.

Jay huffed, crossed her arms, and held her breath. A solid weight came under her and she was off balance for a long few moments before tipping left and ending up… at Dad’s side, exactly where she’d _wanted _to be, and in soft pajamas. Grey socks with patterned black-and-red snakes on, flannel pajama bottoms with Papa’s tartan pattern on, and a loose white thermal long-sleeve.

_Pajamas for the autumn, _she heard Papa say distantly. _A rather fine choice._

_Agh, tartan, _Daddy answered fondly.

“Should’ve seen this coming,” Raphael said, breaking the tension. He shuffled forward, snapping his fingers. By the time he made it to sit on Jay’s other side, he was dressed in pajamas, too: black joggers, white socks, and an overlarge grey shirt which read _THICK THIGHS THIN PATIENCE _in white lettering. The Baby, too, was changed into a simple blue onesie with a duck on and booties on her feet. “She sprouted a halo earlier. Maybe she came into power?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Papa scoffed, throwing one hand out fussily, as he often did. He didn’t seem so much _mean _now as _annoyed. _“Of _course _she came into power. By my estimations, the twins should be coming into it any minute now, at least.”

There was a bright flash and two yell, one clear and vivid and the other muffled and muted. Jay looked to see each of the twins having sprouted a wing each. Sam stood to Lucy’s left, so their gold eyes were side by side. From Sam’s left shoulder was one silver wing and from Lucy’s right, the other. A matching pair.

Pop turned briefly to catch a glance, and something reignited in Jay as he sent back a self-satisfied smirk.

“See?” he boasted. “Right on schedule.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drop a comment!! leave a kudos!!! what do u think The Baby's official name will be? what do you want to/think will happen next?? what did you like most about the chapter???
> 
> want to interact with me on real time?? my tumblr is @spaacey-ace2022 come visit!! thanks for the read, hope you enjoyed, and see yall next update :D


	13. that's the kind of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The signs begin to show, and a single night can change it all.
> 
> In other words, they go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: weird writing toward the end and semi-violence?? mention of death at the end

Crowley was out of his depth.

Okay, that was an understatement. What was the word one would use for someone who was way too far out of their depth and acted as though they weren’t despite _literally everyone _around them knowing it? Crowley couldn’t tell you. All he really remembered at the moment was half muscle memory and half things he’d distinctly been thinking in the last moment before he woke up in his flat with everything happening.

The basics were this: he’d just put little Raphael back to bed. He’d been speaking to Aziraphale about something (marriage? more babies?). He had not been in his Mayfair flat.

That last bit wasn’t the worst part either. His hair had been longer. He _knew _his hair had been longer. He hadn’t cut it since before the failed Apocalypse, and it was getting increasingly curly as time had past, and now it was shorn closer to the scalp than it’d been the last time he’d had it cut, cut closer than he’d _ever _worn it. For that matter, he felt weak and dizzy if he was upright for too long, which had _never _happened before.

But, then again, Lucifer and Lilith had been speaking late into the night. Crowley had caught bits and pieces, but he remembered hearing _atrophied _and _traumatized _before he’d slipped back into unconsciousness.

He thankfully made it all the way to the sofa in the living area of the royal chambers before he fainted. Even then, he _did _faint, for a few minutes at most, and woke to see Aziraphale staring haughtily at him from his holding circle.

“Oh, _great,” _the angel sighed gloomily. “You’re _alive.”_

“Oi,” Crowley bit out, pushing himself slowly upright. “Angel, I know you don’t know very much about _anything _right now beside _your orders _and _your duties to the Heavenly Host, _but everyone currently on stage out there except Hastur and maybe Beelzebub love you and hold you very dear.”

Aziraphale growled and turned to face the wall. “You demons are _awful _liars,” he grouched. He crossed his arms like the fussy angel he was, and Crowley melted despite it all. “If you’re trying to get me to _join _you, or leech my power, or whatever you intend to do, I’d be pleased to inform you, I _decline.”_

Crowley felt all the six thousand years of his life on Earth as though gravity had just been invented. He pulled the blanket he’d used off the sofa, wrapping it around his shoulders. Then he pulled one of the pillows Lucifer had slipped under his head down and threw it onto the floor. He slinked off the couch and sat on the pillow.

“Those five children, angel,” he said.

Aziraphale lifted his chin to one side, exposing just that bit of his face, but said nothing.

_Good, _Crowley thought. _He’s showing interest._

“I don’t know their ages,” he continued. He frowned down at himself, fiddling with the corners of the soft blanket. “Er… don’t _remember. _But anyway. I know my Raphael is the eldest one, the boy. But a being of angelic stock can’t reproduce on their own.”

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” Aziraphale said coldly, though his head stayed tilted that little bit.

“I know you don’t,” Crowley sighed, putting his chin in his palm. “As I was saying, that one is called Raphael. He’s a darling, isn’t he? Just the finest child, he is. A dream to have raised. And then the twins, _oh, _the twins. Lucy and Samael.”

“I see a theme here with the angelic names,” Aziraphale mentioned slowly, tentatively. “Raphael, that was…”

“The Healer,” Crowley confirmed. “Samael was Lucifer’s name before God offered him a choice to choose his own. It means—”

“I know what it means!” Aziraphale said indignantly, turning to face Crowley finally. He seemed to have overshot where he believed the demon was, and looked a little shocked to see Crowley a mere five feet away from the holding circle. He took a step back. “Why are you so close to the circle? I’m _dangerous, _in case that was another thing you forgot.”

“Tell me what _Samael _means, angel,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale scoffed. “It means _death-bringer _or _destroyer.”_

“And?”

This time, hesitance struck the angel’s face. He wrung his hands, shifted foot to foot. “What do you mean, _and?”_

“What was the definition of Samael _before _the War?”

Something familiar and right flashed in Aziraphale’s eyes. “From my understanding,” the angel said slowly, averting his eyes, “it, ah… _Samael _meant _He Who Represents the Fair and Justness of the Earth That Will Be.”_

“Very good,” Crowley said, nodding, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “We call him _Sam _for short. If I’m not mistaken, and I rather hope I’m not, Lucy’s the older of the two, and then Sam.”

Aziraphale’s blue eyes reappeared for a few moments before he looked away, reticent. _Guilty. _“And what of the little girl? And— And the infant?”

“Do you know my name, angel?” Crowley found himself leaning forward, toward his angel, feeling… _hopeful._

“The demon Crowley?” Aziraphale offered. “Or would you be the _arch-_demon Crowley?”

“Neither. _Anthony J. _Crowley,” he answered matter-of-factly, and _maybe _he was smiling. “The little girl’s name is Jay. She’s my Starmaker the Second, or so I’ve been told. I don’t know much about the infant, but that she’s a girl. Her pre-Enochian name is _Child of the Roses and Rain.”_

“Why roses?” Aziraphale sniffed, tilting his head. “And… _rain?”_

“Dunno. Just felt right.”

~*~

“So…”

Raphael looked to Dad, lifting a curious eyebrow. “So?”

“We, um…” Dad rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, frowning. “We talked, earlier. Angel and I.”

“I’d figured.” The young teen tipped his head back against the sofa. Sam reached down to ruffle his hair, which ultimately brought a smile to his face. “Have you put it together yet?”

Dad looked confused until Raph sent a raised eyebrow to Pop, who stood pacing the cell like a trapped lion, wretched and snarling. Restless, really, and angry, but unable to understand _why._

“Give a man a fish and he will eat for a day,” Lucy said sagely. “Give a man a book and he will be entertained for life.”

_Yes, _Sam signed, and Raphael grinned as the eleven-year-old closed his eyes and nodded solemnly. _Fish and book._

“Right, now I _know _you lot are buggering me,” Dad snickered. _“What _are you talking about? Fish and books.”

Jay hummed and slid off the sofa to plop beside Dad. “Give him a book. That is, um… He likes books. _Will _like. Has liked?” She looked at Raphael, confusion marring her features as well. Raph shrugged, feeling light and goofy. “Huh. Well. Anyway, he likes books.”

“I’d assume you’re talking about me, but I’ve not a clue what you’re talking about,” Pop sniffed, stopping his pacing a moment to glower at them.

“Sounds about right,” Dad said, nodding slowly, having ignored Pop. “Any suggestions?”

Lucy looked down into her lap, eyes squinted in concentration. Sam made a few confounded gestures before he gave it up. Jay hummed thoughtfully, but was too busy being half asleep on Dad’s shoulder. Raphael knew _exactly _which book should be used, but… _oh…_

“No, but that’s _boring,” _he complained loudly, slumping on Dad. “If I have to hear him read _The Picture of Dorian Gray _one more time, I’ll—”

All three of his younger siblings groaned. Raphael figured, if The Baby were awake and capable, maybe she’d have groaned too. Pop, meanwhile, perked up headily, halting dead in his wearing the tile through.

“Sorry,” he said. “Repeat that?”

_“The Picture of Dorian Gray _by Oscar Wilde,” Lucy grumbled, throwing herself into Sam’s lap dramatically. Sam giggled quietly. _“Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you, new sensations, fear nothing, _oh, blah, blah, blah. It’s all a bunch of gothic era bollocks, is what it is.”

“Lucy!” Raphael half-shrieked, twisting about to look at her.

“What?” the eleven-year-old whined, petulant. Sam was still giggling, hair falling out of its neat little braid. “Daddy says it all the times, _just _like that, it makes Papa laugh!”

Raphael opened his mouth, frowned, and looked back to his parents.

Dad looked dumbstruck as he stared at the angel in the holding circle. The angel in the holding circle was…

Half hunched over himself, one arm held across his midsection, the other holding a hand to his mouth. He was halfway turned away, so his face was hiding, and his shoulders were quivering gently, unevenly. Raphael thought, for a moment, he was having some sort of possession or calling from Heaven, but—

_“Ho-ho, my,” _Pop chortled. “My, _oh…”_

Jay sat up from her sleepy stupor. Lucy pushed herself onto her elbows. Sam leaned forward expectantly, waiting, watching, hands having dropped and rendering him silent. Raphael reached back and gripped the couch cushion, felt a shaky smile surfacing on his mouth, and his sight became blurry.

Dad reached an arm to wrap around him and Jay, drawing them closer. He, too, was smiling, tentatively, _hopefully, _and that was something Raph hadn’t even _considered._

Dad, too, had lost all hope. Thrust into a world where he hadn’t the slightest _inkling _as to what was going on, surrounded by children who adored him for no apparent reason, across an angel he loved who didn’t so much as _remember _him and…

And now Papa was _laughing _for the first time since the day he and Dad had been taken.

“Well, I _never,” _Papa finally managed, still turned slightly away. Raphael presumed that, maybe, if he were to turn back, they’d all be able to see tears in his eyes. “I-I _do _apologize, I haven’t a clue as to what just came over me.”

“What?” Dad teased, still smiling. “Laughing, angel?”

“Oh, well.” Papa turned back, finally, dace carefully smoothed over. “I suppose. Um. Tell me more about these, ah, these… _books _I like?”

~*~

They didn’t get to bed until late. Halfway into the conversation, Lilith had emerged wearing a silk nightgown and, surprisingly enough, carrying Monopoly.

Lucy did a swan dive to get it. “Dibs on the warship!”

They all ended up sitting in a circle around the boardgame, laying it right on the borders of Pop’s holding circle so he’d be able to play as well. Though he profusely denied it, he caved on the third round, right about when Raphael was going bankrupt to Jay.

“I’ll play if you do a reset,” Pop said slyly, eyebrows raised as he stood watching, arms crossed.

Jay offered up the unused pieces—Dad had the racecar, Lucy the warship, Sam the thimble, Jay the cat, and Raphael had the scots dog—and passed her hands through the holding circle. Given the circle was made only for Pop, it was no big fuss for her to pass through it, though she was the only one beside Raph who’d had the gall to do so. Pop scanned the few pieces, then chose the one most pleasing to him. Raphael was relieved to see the shiny silver top hat.

Pop sat at his corner of the board, and they played Monopoly.

In the end, Sam and Lucy merged and collected the most properties, Jay fell asleep, Dad went bankrupt, and then Pop went bankrupt, and then the twins went bankrupt, and Raphael won Monopoly at nearly two in the morning.

And if the twins were too asleep to see Dad duck into the holding circle to leave a kiss on Pop’s cheek, well… Raph wouldn’t get their hopes up.

~*~

“Raphie, wake up.”

Bouncing. Someone was bouncing on his stomach. Why. Why was there— _Oh, no._

Raphael gagged, sitting up and moving his sister off his abdomen before her bouncing triggered his gag reflex again. Jay sat, wide-eyed, on the edge of his bed in his chambers in Hell. She waited patiently for him to finish attempting to wake up.

“Wha…?” he murmured, still rubbing his face. His left eye was seared shut and his mouth felt full of cotton, not to mention his head. He felt a bit… _greasy._

“Got an idea,” Jay said. “All of us.”

Raphael turned his thin-slit right eye to look and— _yep. _There were Sam and Lucy, leaning on each other in his doorway, and Lucy had her faint glow, and Sam was sprouting small, pale scales.

Five minutes had them fully situated on Raph’s overlarge chamber bed, the twins tucked up under one arm and Jay tucked under the other. Distantly, Raphael heard The Baby wake up crying, as though she’d sensed the little sibling get-together as well, and he lurched to get off his bed before Lilith’s voice called, “I’ve got it.” He winced, sitting back with his more independent younger siblings. That he didn’t have to worry about The Baby was a new development and one that Lilith had discussed with him. Dad had specifically placed her in his care before they were taken. It was… _worrying._

“I’ve got the Healer’s Eye,” Jay began slowly. “I’m not sure I can do, erm… _all _the stuff, but Lucy and Sammy can manipalate—mani…” She paused, brows furrowing, and slowly worked out the word. “…man-ip-u-late memories. And I can hear them, too, now, but…”

Jay looked to Lucy, who squeezed Sam’s hand. “But Sam and I can’t see them, either, only hear,” the older twin explained. Her face was pinched. Sam was hiding behind his hair, his free hand twitching. Lucy shook her head. “We should be able to _see _them, though, if we really have full power. We don’t know why we _can’t.”_

This brought a full stop to the lines of their plan. This is also when Raphael had a revelation.

_They’re half angel and half demon, _Anathema had said to their parents once, long before this whole fiasco had happened. _In Heaven, one of you is at no power and the other has full capacity. Vice versa for Hell. This means, if they were taken to Heaven, they’d be at half power, and likewise for Hell. They’re Earthly beings in the most literal sense._

Raphael would bake Anathema chocolate biscuits when they got back.

Without a word, the thirteen-year-old rushed to get off the bed, and he had the strangest feeling that he was _smiling. _the other three jumped off after him, tittering confusion, as Raph ran down the hall to the adults’ room. He knocked hurriedly. Lilith opened the door, rocking The Baby in one arm.

“We have to go,” Raphael said excitedly. “Us five kids and Daddy and Papa, we need to go back up.”

Lilith was clearly confused, but made no move to argue. Jay and the twins asked all sorts of questions behind him as the Queen of Hell passed Raphael his baby sister.

And then he was rushing back down the hallway, toward the living room, where Dad was sleeping on the sofa long-ways and Papa was pacing his holding circle. Raphael made a turn toward the and pointed the other three kids toward Dad with his free hand as the hall light flicked on.

“What’s happening?” Pop asked, sounding, despite his best efforts, concerned. “Has there been an attack? Is Heaven coming?”

Raphael put a hand up and the barrier shimmered. Behind him, Dad was too asleep to realize he was speaking Latin. The barrier vanished when Raph snapped his fingers, and something giddy rose up in him when Papa’s face took on a note of surprise. He carefully hushed The Baby’s soft cries, rocking her in his right arm while he used his left to hook through Pop’s right arm and drag him to where the twins and Jay had gotten Dad to stand.

A muzzy Beelzebub, a dazed Lucifer, and a curious Lilith stood in the backlight of the hallway as they all gathered, the seven of them, in the center of the living room. Lucy’s soft glow was getting stronger. Jay’s halo formed, always behind her head no matter where you looked. Sam’s face took on a red tint as a ring of flame sprouted just above his head. Raphael smiled at his aunt and uncle and cousin. Lilith recalled something a moment soon enough and summoned a holy sword.

Sam held out his hand fearlessly. He held onto it and Raphael nodded to himself as his crown of flame glowed red-gold.

He closed his eyes. For once, Raph was not scared of the beam of light that cast about them. Instead of cold white, warm gold swallowed them all up and took them to Earth.

~*~

At equidistance between Heaven and Hell, five beings belonging to neither and both, logically, would be at a hundred percent power.

Anathema, though she may not have realized it at the time, was just as keen as Agnes Nutter in her ability toward prophetic sight, though she would not realize it for another few years yet, when she would wake up after a hazy dream of a child that was not any of Crowley and Aziraphale’s playing in the backyard at Jasmine Cottage only to find out, later that day, that she and Newton were expecting.

It was realized no pregnancy test required. Aziraphale would simply look at her quizzically and then Jay would turn around and say with the sweetest smile, “Congratulations!”

Crowley would come to her later and apologize that she had to find out like that, but Anathema would smile and say, “I had a feeling.”

Before, for her, it simply counted as coincidence. Like how she was dreaming of a warm day in the late summer where the angel and the demon and all their children were gathered in an open field for a picnic when a flash of golden light woke her.

She didn’t know _how _it woke her. She was, after all, asleep in her bed with Newt on the second floor of Jasmine Cottage. No windows in their room faced the cottage just up the road.

~*~

Sam had been edging around Papa since the day in the bookshop.

_The Sword _was not _Papa _though. The Sword was about three feet long, slightly blackened by holy flame that wasn’t currently summoned, and was not overly decorated. All that was really noticeable of the Sword was the hilt, which was spiraled in thick wedges that Sam could easily fit his fingers into. The hilt was clearly crafted so it’d only truly fit Papa’s hand.

Now, at the house, Sam let go of Lucy’s hand, gripped the Sword with both hands, and ran toward the study. He ducked in, around Daddy’s loveseat, and shoved the Sword into the closet beside Papa’s lyre. He made to close the closet door, but glanced down at himself.

Dad’s violet windbreaker. It’d been in the bedroom closet, rarely used but still _smelling _of him. Sam trudged toward his parents’ bedroom as though walking death row, shrugging out of the jacket and placing it neatly on the hanger where he’d found it. That done, he made his way back out to the living room.

Raphael was sat beside Daddy, who held The Baby now, passing him a bottle of formula. Lucy was ushering Pop to sit in his armchair, which… _Hm. _Sam wouldn’t do anything yet, but Jay seemed awfully lonely now. He tapped her shoulder.

_Roof? _he signed anxiously.

Jay’s face pinched, but she still smiled. “Starmakers only, Sammy.” She made no move to leave, though. Sam tucked her under his arm tiredly.

“Starmaker,” Dad said quietly, swaying gently. He squinted at Jay. “Izzat what I call you? _Starmaker?”_

“No,” Jay said calmly, resigned. “You call me—”

“Starburst,” Papa interrupted, sitting in his armchair now. Sam averted his eyes. “Like the… oh, confound it, what was it? The, ah… the candies, was it?”

Sam looked up again and— That explained it. An apparition stood just behind the armchair, Papa’s memories, smiling oh-so-softly, and he winked. Lucy staggered backward and Sam offered her a hand.

“It’s now or never,” Dad’s memories prompted, walking behind the sofa to meet his own counterpart. He had long hair, here, contrary, to Raphael’s explaining that they were as they’d been before he was born. “Jay, my love, activate the Eye of the Healer. Sam, Lucy, she needs to be between you both, keep a good grip on her.”

Raphael hurriedly rushed off the couch, plucking The Baby carefully up. He vanished the empty bottle and burped her as he went, and then placed her into the white bassinet that still waited at the arm of the sofa. He unlocked the wheels, pushed it back, and then locked the wheels again, then waved his hand over the bassinet for good measure. A shimmering gold barrier separated The Baby from the world.

“What’s going on _now?” _Dad, the one sitting awkwardly on the sofa with limp, gangly arms hanging empty, looked about with wide golden eyes which almost seemed to glow in the semi-darkness. “What happened?”

“Both our consciousnesses are trapped in your dad’s head, my dears,” Papa’s memory said. “Crowley, would I be right in asking Raphael to put us in suspended animation?”

Dad’s memory pondered this while Raphael came back around the sofa to stand in front of his other siblings.

“Yes,” he finally decided. Raph turned to look at him, and Sam couldn’t see his brother’s expression, but he had a feeling it was something like incredulity. “He’ll have limited time. Ten minutes, tops, for that kind of focus on both of us when we’d both be fighting back, even unconsciously. You’d have to also press out power, like in my old flat, do you understand, darling?”

Raph nodded, and closed his eyes, and then they began.

~*~

Raphael felt like fire.

While Dad’s memory barked instructions, golden eyes bright in the storm that was the four of them, he stood, arms outstretched, holding the bodies of their parents suspended in time as he poured out volts of power strong enough to kill a mortal man. It streamed like lightning from his fingertips, sparking and flashing, but he knew better.

Jay had opened the Eye of the Healer. Standing between the twins as she was, the eyes on her hands were pressed tight, and she yelled with the pain of it, but Dad and Papa urged them not to let go of Jay. Raphael stood in front of them all like a barrier, a whirlwind of power for the other three to pick off from.

He didn’t know quite what was happening but, at the same time, he _did. _He could see everything, _hear _everything. _Feel everything._

A young woman sitting bolt upright in bed, her hair tickling her cheeks. A principality up the road falling out of her chair.

Jay screamed. Dad, eyes aflame, told her, _“DO NOT LET GO!”_

Raphael dropped to his knees. His eyes burned. When he opened his mouth to shriek, all that came out was another volt of that golden lightning.

Lights flicked on in a lovely cottage a few blocks away. People were panicking. Footsteps down the stairs.

“SAM, LUCY, MOVE US BACK!” Papa ordered, voice nearly lost in the storm.

“TWO MORE MINUTES!” Dad called. There were scales on his face, even in the memory. “HURRY! SAM, MOVE AZIRAPHALE. LUCY, MOVE ME!”

Doors slamming. Dog barking. Yelling, more lights flickering on up and down the street.

Raphael closed his eyes and, this time, the shriek became audible, warping into this plane in the ether, something _horrid, _something _terrifying _and worthy of awe, to be _horrible, _to be _tearing apart at the seams. _It sounded, Raphael thought distantly, like the horns of Rapture.

One minute. Feet pounding up the lane, left, right, left, then _more, _so many people, it felt like a _herd, _and _why were they all coming toward here?_

A second scream. Raphael vaguely understood it was him.

Thirty seconds.

Twenty.

_Fifteen._

_Ten._

Sam tore away of Jay, ducking behind and—

_Nine._

—Lucy grabbed him by the shirt, and Jay fell to her knees, and—

_Eight._

—Raphael’s third scream filled the air, bellowing and aching, and his eyes filled with light, and—

_Seven._

—_stop, start. _The light _did not _fade.

_Six._

A flicker, and a wail, and The Baby was awake.

_Five._

They were in the driveway now, an angry mob, torches and pitchforks, and—

_Four._

—Raphael felt tears of molten silver rush down his face, felt Jay’s ragged breaths, felt Lucy and Sam curled onto the ground together.

_Three._

At the door. Jay was no longer breathing. Sam sobbed with a voice he couldn’t use. Lucy did not cry. And Raphael became—

_Two._

—a supernova of light, and _everything _was—

_One._

—gone.

_Stop. Blink._

White tile floor. Bare feet. He’d been here before.

Raphael looked to God as the world dissolved into dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) hope you enjoyed see u next update

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr at @kkid-nothingg. Leave a kudos if you liked it, constructive criticism is welcomed in the comments. Or, you, know vague yelling at me.


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